#anyways. should probably get back to work on whumptober tomorrow

[finn-m-corvex]

Someone You Loved

Needed a brain break from Whumptober so I wrote this in an hour instead. Haven't listened to Lewis Capaldi for a long time but this song popped up in my playlist and it gave me Jaya vibes so here we are. Kinda similar to Sounding Sea but also not, mostly because I never thought I would write a songfic in my life, but hey, plans change. Literally almost just had a panic attack as I was cleaning this up because I thought I deleted it but nope we're all good. Enjoy everybody!

Words: 2k

TWs: depression, mentions of anxiety, basically all the same stuff as Sounding Sea.

I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy

Oh, he was crazy alright. But maybe it was just the hunger talking.

He had never really been one for doing things halfway. Something either got all of his effort or none of his concern and there was very little in-between. Now, he was wishing that he had more gears than forward and reverse; was that why humans created cars with multiple modes? To make up for the fact that they couldn't ever take the stick and pull it back to spare their feelings? Was it all just some sick scheme of taking back control?

No, that was stupid. He let his head thunk against the stone wall behind him, ignoring the bruises littering his skin and the blood welling from the cuts and scratches inflicted across his body. Jay had plenty of stupid ideas already, what was one more?

I need somebody to heal Somebody to know Somebody to have Somebody to hold

And of course, like a goddamn fool he had fumbled it. Fucked it up most likely beyond repair, just because he didn't come with a gearshift to dial his love back. She had known better than any of the others, always picked up on his mood shifts and his anxiety and his everything before he even knew what was going on; sometimes she was even faster than Cole. Before then Jay had never met someone with that ability, because most people would turn a blind eye to him at best and try to hurt him at worst. Kinda like what was happening right now, actually.

She wasn't like most people.

First Master, how stupid was he?

It's easy to say But it's never the same I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain

He did. Fuck, he missed her so much. He missed the way she made him feel like he was on top of the world, like he could do anything and be anyone. Anxiety couldn't touch him, his insecurities powerless against the encouraging words she would feed him whenever he started to doubt himself. What was he now?

Stuck in a shitty pirate ship with no friends and no way of calling for help after possibly fucking all of them over for what might be the last time.

Well, at least he wouldn't be able to damn them anymore, right?

The ball and chain was heavy on his ankle, and he had to drag it up by hand so he could tuck his knees against his chest, looking up at the bright sky through the grate. His hands were blistered from how much he had been mopping the deck, but it was still much more preferable to Scrap n' Tap.

He tried to imagine how it would sound for her to say 'I love you.'

Now the day bleeds Into nightfall And you're not here To get me through it all I let my guard down And then you pulled the rug I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

Jay was still trying to imagine it when night finally fell, a dark blanket smothering out his one light source and casting the rest of his cell into darkness. He couldn't say that he ever had a problem with the dark before now, but the shadows were stretching just a little too much, the corners just a little too obscured and his vision was too fuzzy as it was adjusting to the new level of light. He supposed one of his eyes being basically out of commission wasn't helping.

Tears tried to leave his eyes but he blinked them back, determined not to cry. Nya wasn't here, and Cole wasn't here, and crying wasn't going to change that. He could do this, he could get through it.

Being left to his own devices left too much time for him to start going down memory lane, and he was thrust into the memory of the day when his world shattered apart, the shards gouging holes in his heart to leave gaping wounds that he didn't know how they would heal at the time. His head had been hurting like he had smashed it into the wooden floor of the Bounty, winded as if he just recovered from a bad fall.

He wanted it back. Why couldn't he just have it back?

I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to turn to This all or nothing way of loving got me sleeping without you

He loved her too much to try and push her away again, and yet here he was, keeping her at arms-length when all she wanted to do was get closer and try to help.

Younger him would've rejoiced, reveled in the knowledge that Nya wanted him out of all people, but Jay knew better now. Knew how easy it was to get swept up in the current, to lose yourself in the tide that never quite receded.

To drown in it, because eventually you would forget that you had to keep swimming.

Sleeping was something that didn't come easily to him anyway, but now it was impossible to find. Apparently he had pissed off Mr. Sandman too, as he would spend night after night springing awake from some bad dream or another, only to find some sort of project in this damn lighthouse to keep him occupied. He needed distractions; distractions from how he had left Kai behind, how he didn't protect Zane, how he had damned Cole and Lloyd and Wu and Misako and everyone else in fucking Ninjago-

But mostly? He couldn't stop thinking about he had damned her too.

Now, I need somebody to know Somebody to heal Somebody to have Just to know how it feels It's easy to say but it's never the same I guess I kinda liked the way you helped me escape

She was right there. Nya was right there and he failed her, again.

Jay shivered in his chair, looking around his parents' trailer to try and find any trace of her. The only thing he could find was a framed photo that he had given his parents forever ago, from before their messy breakup and the fights and the Djinn. From when they were still happy. Sure, they were both smiling, Jay's arm wrapped around her shoulders and her arm around his waist, but...

Were they ever really happy? Or was Jay just too scared to admit that something wasn't right?

He clutched the photograph in his hands, watching as the wooden frame started to crack under the pressure. Maybe it was just because he grew up poor, but the cost of his escape had been too steep; it should've never been her.

It never should have been her.

But it was, and there was nothing he could about it now. The best he could do was hope and pray that his plan to rescue her wouldn't fall through, because he was running out of prayers.

It worked, and the price for that had been steep too. Would the heavy costs and the sacrifices ever end?

Years passed, and against his better judgement Jay thought that maybe it would.

Now the day bleeds Into nightfall

Was it night? He couldn't tell anymore. Slipping in and out of sleep was confusing, to say the least, and he had no idea how long he had spent laying down on this uncomfortable couch before someone would be lulling him back to sleep. Mr. Sandman must be taking pity on him.

And you're not here To get me through it all

But Nya was here; he could hear her voice, whispering to him in soft tones with gentle words, kissing his cheek and then his lips and playing with his hair and trying everything she knew to try and get him back to sleep.

Was he going crazy? Again?

First Master, it really was just like the ship all over again. He didn't remember the voices being able to touch him, though. That part was new. Oh well.

Gotta enjoy a nice dream while it lasts, right?

Why did someone start sobbing when he said that out loud?

I let my guard down And then you pulled the rug I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

Jay loved that she loved him, cared for him, trusted him, and he trusted her with his life and his soul. Knowing that she was there at his side always helped him get through the days; he was sure that he wouldn't still be here if something had ever happened to her. They were two halves of the same piece; maybe they didn't quite fit together all the way, but there was nothing they wouldn't do to make it work, that Jay wouldn't do to make it work.

So really, she had to stop doing stupid self-sacrificing shit. But he guessed that he wasn't really one to talk.

But becoming the sea?

And I tend to close my eyes when it hurts sometimes I fall into your arms I'll be safe in your sound 'til I come back around

She was never coming back around. Jay stood outside of the lighthouse, looking out across the ocean and watching as the tides flowed in and out, taking in the rocks just off-shore and the small rip-currents jaggedly cutting through the calm surface of the water.

Jay turned around, feeling the breeze start to blow his jacket into his back. Shutting his eyes, he let his element buzz around him, crackling and fizzing and popping The darkness was something familiar; he knew what to expect when he shut his eyes for too long, and he needed the familiarity no matter how traumatic the origins were. Without hesitating he let himself fall backwards into the surf, the cold water making him freeze up instantly as it washed over his face and into his nose.

He suppressed the natural urge to fight and get his face out of the water.

What was the point when she wouldn't be there to tell him how stupid he was being? To say that he should've worn a thicker jacket, to dry his clothes, to snuggle with him in the bed until he could finally feel his fingers and play with her hair?

For now the day bleeds Into nightfall And you're not here To get me through it all I let my guard down And then you pulled the rug I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

Jay wrote the same words over and over at least once a night. He didn't know why he was fixating so hard on them but he couldn't stop, and even now as his hands were trembling and his hair was dripping seawater onto the pages he was writing the same seven lines again. There was no one there to kiss his cheek and offer him tea and to laugh at how his hair looked like he had been dunked in a mop bucket.

He should've just stayed in the goddamn ocean.

But now the day bleeds Into nightfall And you're not here To get me through it all I let my guard down And then you pulled the rug I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

For some reason, Jay cut out the first two lines eventually. After a while, it just got a little redundant to keep saying that the day would go away and be replaced by the night; at least, that was his best guess for why one day he started writing three lines instead of seven. He read them over and over, again and again, feeling the bitterness and the anger and the sadness consume him from the inside out, and Jay knew that Nya would not recognize the man standing on the beach if she ever decided to walk back onto land one day.

But she never would, and Jay would never get used to the loss that spread through his chest like a disease, a cancer that there was no way to treat.

I let my guard down And then you pulled the rug I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

[greatandquestionablecontent]

"Leave the lights on." | Whumptober Day 8: Sleep Deprivation

Lexan's POV

"Leave the lights on," I say absently to whoever I could hear locking up for the evening. It should go without saying, but lately Raegan's been on closing shift and she doesn't know everything yet.

"I was planning on leaving you in the pitch dark," comes Livia's voice. "Could be good for your sleep."

A little something relaxes in me at the sound of her voice, and I remind myself to loosen my shoulders, inhale fully, stop crouching at the computer like that guy from Death Note.

Everyone knows this office never gets pitch dark. Even "turning the lights off" is really only turning off about half of them. We're not stupid. We've got backup generators upon backup generators, and solar lights, and lights with no off switch at all.

I lean back and stretch, pushing my arms back and sucking in air deeper and deeper as my binder and muscles strain until I hear several cracks in rapid succession. Perfect. A few twists to one side and the other bring several more satisfying crunches. I'm more careful with my neck -- I'm too familiar with how that can make it worse, even though I know I shouldn't be doing it at all -- as I tilt an ear to each shoulder for a couple crunch-crackles. I pop my elbows, then my knuckles, wrists, and a couple other joints in my fingers, just the ones that need it, not all of them.

I'm in the process of cracking my hips, which involves some unseemly leg spreading and pelvic wiggling, when Livia spins me around in my desk chair. I meet her eyes as I tug at my knee, eliciting a snap that I've never heard anyone else's hip do, and we both chuckle at the faux-sensual nature of it.

"You could be in the dark at my place," Livia says.

"I don't want to be in the dark at all."

"Even better. I wasn't gonna unplug my lava lamps for you anyway."

It's true that her unit of the townhome she shares with Jetlag is hardly the best place to be in even what passes for darkness around here. It's part of what makes evening in her room feel so otherworldly, the purple fairy lights and shifting bubbles from the lava lamps shining onto the walls, not to mention that I probably get a contact high just from breathing in there. I'm more tempted than I'd like by the thought of stretching out on her fuzzy rug and dozing off to the background sounds of her getting ready for bed...

I shift my jaw forward and out, but to my disappointment it doesn't snap, crackle, or pop this time. "I can't. I have to finish this infrastructure review before demo tomorrow."

"Didn't you already do an infrastructure review?" Lexan plucks my bottle of Excedrin off the desk and gives it a shake. Go figure she would remember how full it was last time she shook that thing. "Babe, no wonder you're not sleeping. When was the last time you took these?"

"Now?" I reach for it, unsurprised when she holds it out of my reach. "You're not my nurse. Give it."

"I prescribe some rest and relaxation. And ease up on the NSAIDs, you're gonna burn a hole in your stomach."

She's so predictable. It's nice, though. And maybe a part of me appreciates that someone gets what I'm putting myself through to keep this up. North with his pack a day habit and pull yourself up by your bootstraps mindset sure doesn't want to hear me complaining, and half of our staff doesn't even know why our work matters so much, so they see me as a neurotic workaholic with a stick up my ass. Which isn't to say that I'm not, but it's also not to say I don't appreciate some sympathy on occasion.

My face must have done something, because she sets down the bottle and reaches over to tuck a stray chunk of dirty blonde hair behind my ear. I avoid her gaze and bend my ankles to and fro, getting a couple tiny clicks out of one but not the other. "It's gonna be fine, Lex," she says.

"We don't know that."

She doesn't argue this. "Come back to it in the morning," she suggests instead. "You can get up in time to watch the sunrise. You weren't planning on staying in here another nine hours on your own, were you?"

"No," I admit.

It's been a while since I've managed to watch the sunrise, favoring late nights over early mornings lately. There was a while where I'd get up early enough to go for a long walk in the lavender mornings, climb up on the old drilling rig and watch the sun stretch out over the desert.

And then scramble back down and hurry back to the office building before anyone saw. We're not supposed to fuck with the old rig at all, but sometimes it's the only way anything feels real after two weeks of four hours a night of sleep. I kind of miss that feeling, when caffeine and adrenaline powered through the haze just enough that everything seemed bright and bitterly beautiful, but also distant enough to not be overwhelming.

These days, it all feels overwhelming. It feels like every morning and every evening I'm squinting up at something too big to fully see, and maybe that's why I miss climbing up so high that everything looks small.

"Sunrise," I repeat.

And as soon as I've decided I'm going home with her, the exhaustion hits. The mere process of saving my work and shutting down the computer feels momentous, and I don't know how I thought I'd fit in another couple hours without collapsing on the desk.

[blancheludis]

Whumptober 2024 Day 5: "If my pain will stretch that far"

Fandom: Star Wars Characters: Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi Tags: Minor Character Death, War, Grief, Building Trust

Summary:

Cody finds quickly that no training or simulation could have ever really prepared him for the realities of war. After a battle, he walks the field, walks amongst his fallen brothers, certain he will never get used to the grief.

He is only mildly surprised to find General Kenobi out here, doing his own rounds.

"What are you doing?" he asks when Kenobi kneels down at a dying man's side.

"Taking their pain," Kenobi answers, as if that is supposed to make sense. As if there is nothing strange about a natborn caring whether or not a clone dies in pain.

- Cody, Obi-Wan, and slowly beginning to trust each other.

Real war is different than the simulations. Cody knew that. He knew it before they shipped out from Kamino and has experienced it often enough since then. But he will never get used to it. To the earth going muddy with blood, caking to his boots. To bodies littering his surroundings to the horizon and beyond. To calling out to brothers and never getting an answer back.

Perhaps worse than the dying, however, is the aftermath for the brothers still alive. The reluctance to accept this reality. The pain. The grief.

As Commander, Cody has a thousand things to do. Reports to write and review. Supplies to organize. People to command. Yet, he finds himself walking over the battlefield, stepping carefully between droid parts and bodies too similar to his own. He does not even know all their names. He hopes all of them already had one.

He is tired. Not just the exhaustion that comes from fighting day and night, but something that sits deeper, rattling his bones with every breath he takes. This war has just begun and he is already done with it. Done with the very reason he exists. There will be nothing beyond this for the clones. Privately, Cody thinks that might be all right. This cannot be a good purpose to create life.

"Cody, my dear." a voice rips him out of his dark musings.

General Kenobi appears out of nowhere in the middle of the battlefield. He has not changed his robes, has probably not even sat down since the fighting ended. Of course, Cody has not either.

"General."

Cody's body slips into a salute automatically. He is thankful for these ingrained instincts. General Kenobi has not yet given any sign that he demands strict adherence to protocol at all times, but Cody knows better than to test him. Some natborns have shown their real colours immediately, their disdain for clones and the war palpable in every single interaction. The general, as most Jedi, truly, has not been anything but kind, but that does not mean he will remain so. They are all tired.

Kenobi walks towards him, steady and calm, not untouched by the battlefield around them but moving on anyway. He is, Cody has learned, very good at compartmentalizing. 

"Are you making your rounds?"

"Yes, sir." If that is what the General wants to call his grieved wandering, Cody will take it. "I'll be back in the command centre in a few minutes."

"No need." Kenobi shakes his head, offering a smile that is distinctly sad around the edges. "The battle is won. The stronghold is secured. We can go back to strategizing tomorrow." Softer, he adds, "You should get some sleep."

No matter how short they have been at this, Cody has found out quickly that General Kenobi is a hypocrite. He constantly tells the men to take breaks, to eat, to sleep, yet he never seems to do so himself. He is up at all hours, pouring over datapads in his office, haunting the training rooms, spending hours in calls with the Council or other generals, even mingling with the troops. A few times, Cody has found him meditating, only to jump immediately back into action if he is needed. He spends little time in his quarters and Cory can only hope that he, at least, rests there. The rings under Kenobi's eyes only seem to get darker with every day, and the Jedi robes might hide the rest of his body, but his progressively gaunt cheek are very much visible for anyone with eyes to see. Cody sees.

With anyone else, Cody would command them to go to the mess and then to bed. Everyone else does not hold his life and that of his men in their hands, though.

"Are you going to take a break, too, sir?" he still asks. They were made for the Jedi. Surely that means more than that they are supposed to die for them.

"Don't worry about me, dear," Kenobi replies as expected. "I'll be finishing my round out here and then I'll go to the medics tent."

The tension that has been slowly bleeding out of Cody at finding his General unharmed and exuding calm is back with a vengeance.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, eyes roaming over Kenobi's form. Blood sticks to the robe in a number of places but he holds himself upright and does not look hurt. That does not mean anything, of course. Nobody would know better than Cody, who will always uphold his duty to his men first before taking care of his own pesky needs.

"No," Kenobi reassures him, although, in this matter, his word do not count for much. "I'm going to see if I can help out with the men."

A completely different tension creeps into Cody's muscles at that. "I didn't know you also trained as a healer," Cody says, just barely swallowing his scepticism. Belatedly, he adds, "Sir."

From what he has heard from the other commanders, the Jedi might have ordered an army to fight this war, but have also neglected to train their own people accordingly. A number of the Jedi are fighters and truly an asset to have on the battlefield. But few have more than passing or historical knowledge of warfare. Of troop movements. Of supply needs. Of strategic manoeuvres. The 212th is lucky to have Kenobi who, after a brief adjusting period, has shown himself to have a keen mind - and is willing to listen to Cody, who knows his men and their capabilities much better than any outsider ever could. Other battalions do not fare so well. So, he has come to trust the general's instincts and knowledge when talking strategy and when dealing with the more political side of the war. But this?

"Oh, nothing beyond the basics," the general says, nonchalant as if the admission does not set Cody's heart racing.

No matter how nice it is that General Kenobi wants to be involved with the men, Cody is not sure how to tell him that it would be better to leave the healing to trained professionals. Helping can quickly slide into making things worse when one does not know what they are doing.

Carefully forming each word, like he is navigating a minefield, Cody says, "I don't think the medics are so overwhelmed that you need to sacrifice your rest to help."

"It is not much of a sacrifice," Kenobi says with a smile, making things worse.

"Let me accompany you on your rounds, then, sir," Cody decides more than offers. If he is with Kenobi, then he can try to steer him past the medics when they return. It will not be hard to find some pressing matter they need to discuss. Neither of their desks is ever empty. And with them having been occupied with this battle, the flimsi will have stacked up exponentially.

That, of course, gives Kenobi halt. "Have you rested?"

"I will, after," Cody says and keeps his tone polite, even though his eyes are piercing into the general. Hypocrite, he thinks loudly, still not sure whether the Jedi can read thoughts or not. He definitely deserves to read this one.

Kenobi raises a single eyebrow at him, which could mean anything, really. But then he inclines his head. "Very well."

They walk in silence. Cody looks at every dead brother they pass, takes in the details on their armour. Mentally, he checks them against the casualty report he demanded as soon as they were all back in camp. He does not yet know all their names, but he will. It is the least he can do.

It is a terrible thing, to walk amongst so much death. The sun is beginning to set and the sky is slowly turning blood red, a fitting accompaniment to this tragedy.

The camp is long out of sight, when Kenobi suddenly hastens his steps. He hurries to where a few bodies are thrown over each other. Almost carelessly, he pushes the two upper bodies to the side. Cody's hands ball into fist of their own volition and his mouth opens, chain of command be damned, to stop Kenobi. Never before has he shown such callousness when dealing with the troops, but -

There is a whimper. Low and choked, but undeniably there. Cody's feet are moving before he has fully grasped the implication. Together they unearth a trooper, still clinging to life amongst so many that have already marched on.

He will not make it. Cody can see that immediately. One of his legs is mangled, almost ripped off, and it is still bleeding but only sluggishly. Blaster bolts riddle his torso. And now that he is free, his hands are coming up weakly, grasping for something only he can see.

"It's all right, dear," General Kenobi says, kneeling down in the bloody dirt without a second thought. Everything about him is gentle; voice, face, hands. He mutters quiet reassurances as he makes to unlatch the bucket.

That is what gets Cody moving, having frozen in place at the sight before. Several squads have already gone over the battlefield to recover the hurt and help the dying. It should not surprise him that they have not found everybody. The field is a mess of dead men and broken droids, and everybody is tired. He is choking at the mere thought of dying out here alone, his brothers carried away, only empty bodies remaining, nobody to wait for him for the march ahead.

The bucket comes off, revealing more blood underneath and glassy eyes, tracing invisible things. His lips move, forming words he does not have the strength to actually say.

Kenobi cups the man's jaw with one hand while the other settles down on the mangled remains of his leg. He closes his eyes and suddenly looks peaceful. Cody can only watch, helpless, pouring all his energy into swallowing down the scream building in his chest. All he wants, right now, is to bundle up his brothers and leave for the Wild Space, anywhere that is not here.

Whatever Kenobi is doing, the trooper calms. The whimpers die down, his breathing evens out, his eyes actually settle on the General.

"There, my dear," Kenobi says, voice hoarse but still so very gentle. "That's better."

Cody does not know what is happening, but he uses the chance to take the trooper’s hand. "What's your name?" he asks, feeling inadequate, but he needs to know. Nobody should be left behind.

The trooper looks at Cody, almost certainly does not recognize him. "CT-5-"

"No," Cody interrupts him softly, squeezing his hand. "Your name."

"Tumble," he says, barely a whisper. Then he closes his eyes. "'m tired."

"I know, Tumble." Cody wants to cry but keeps his tone light. "It's all right. You can rest now."

"The fighting -" Tumble asks, cut off by a coughing fit that wracks his entire body. "'s done?"

"Yes," Cody says and can do nothing against the way his eyes burn. "You did good."

Command classes in Kamino prepared Cody for a large-scale war. For directing a vast number of men where they need to go to win the most battles. It prepared him for managing losses from a logistical and strategical standpoint. It did not prepare him for kneeling in the middle of a battlefield, holding the hand of a dying brother.

No clone is a stranger to death, to losing some of their own. There were clean deaths, brothers being called in for meetings with Nala Se and never returning afterwards. And there were less clean deaths. Training accidents, punishments. Priest's battle circle. The clones are a product, made to be used. Made to be expendable. Yet, for all their clinical training and theoretically optimized procedures, the Kaminoans did not manage to breed feelings out of the clones. Right now, Cody almost wishes they had.

They sit there, together, Marshal Commander and General, holding a dying man, waiting until the breathing stops and the eyes go unseeing again. Cody wonders, briefly, whether he should offer to end it. But whatever the General is doing, Tumble does not seem to be in any pain anymore.

"Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Tumble" Cody says, quietly, as he closes Tumble's eyes. Since being deployed, the words stopped sounding clumsy on his tongue. Just another terrible thing they are getting used to.

They remain sitting there for a moment longer, exhaustion sinking even deeper into Cody's bones.

"I'm sorry, Commander." General Kenobi then says, voice breaking halfway through.

Cody's head snaps up, staring at Kenobi. What would he apologize for?

"You found him, sir," he says, still haunted by the very thought of suffocating underneath his brothers' dead bodies. "I'm grateful he didn't have to die alone."

But Kenobi shakes his head. "I'm sorry he had to die in the first place," he corrects, none of the sharp edges in his tone directed at Cody. "It is cruel to create an entire people only to send them to war."

Unsure what to say, Cody drops his eyes to Tumble, to any of the bodies around them. He does not want to offer platitudes. Kenobi is a Jedi and the Jedi ordered them. Reality often looks different than dreams or simulations but, as a natborn, Kenobi should know that much better than Cody. During training, the clones did not have time for dreams, nor, really, any comprehension of what those are. There were classes and training and scores. There was survival or decommissioning.

With a small sigh, Kenobi gets to his feet. He does not seem as steady as he did before, but when Cody jumps up and offers an arm, he waves him off with a smile.

Silently, they continue their round. Kenobi finds two more brothers that are barely alive and beyond saving. For each, he kneels down, calms them. For each, Cody asks their name and commits them to memory.

After, Kenobi looks progressively worse. The rings under his eyes seems to get darker, his shoulders are hunched and now he is limping, if only slightly.

"What are you doing to them, sir?" Cody asks, less meant as an accusation but more with growing concern. Kenobi obviously cares about the men, but a well-placed vibroblade will help them just as much and might not injure their singular, very much not expendable Jedi General.

"I'm taking some of their pain," Kenobi says as if that is supposed to make sense. "I am not a healer, but I can do that for them, at least."

As glad as Cody has learned to be for the Force, he still cannot even begin to grasp what it is capable of.

"Take their pain?" he questions, brow furrowed. "As in muffling it?"

Cocking his head to the side, Kenobi looks at him. "More like siphoning it out. Taking it for myself."

That is not - "Sir," Cody protests, entirely out of his depths. "You can't -"

"It's all right, Cody," Kenobi cuts him off, still calm, like he has not just dropped a conversational bomb on Cody. "It's not harming me. It's just a little bit of pain. With a bit of rest, I'll be as good as new."

If he ever allowed himself to lie down and properly rest, perhaps.

Cody cannot help but stare. The very thought that a natborn would willingly take on pain just to ease a clone's death is overwhelming, even with how long he has known Kenobi now. Even with how many of his expectations Kenobi has defied. 

"The medics could take care of them," Cody offers, pushing the words out around the sudden block in his throat.

"They are busy caring for those that can be saved."

This is worse. This is General Kenobi admitting that he actively decided to search for and help the men that will die, no matter what they do. He is sacrificing himself for dead men.

"I'm grateful that you found them, but next time, let me or one of the troops end their suffering." Nausea rolls in Cody's stomach at thinking about a next time. Likely, Cody's entire life will be made up of next times, right up until it is his turn to die. That is what he was made for.

"No, my dear Cody," Kenobi argues with all the stubbornness of a natborn. "You are already doing so much. This is a burden I can take from you. And I see them as my men just like they are yours." Quieter, he adds, "It is the least I can do."

As if he is not doing enough. As if he is not fighting for them in every call with politicians and officials. As if he does not learn the name of every soldier he comes across. As if he does not have a kind word or deed for everybody.

"We need you more than we need them," Cody says, trying to ignore how much these words taste of ash and bile. It is what is demanded of him as commander, however.

"No," Kenobi counters, just like that. "Every life is sacred. Everybody deserves as much comfort and dignity as we can give them, living or dying. Jedi exist to serve life. Already, this is so far from where I expected to end up when I was a child. Let me do my part, Commander."

There is nothing Cody can say to that. He is grateful, even knowing that he should not be, that he should tell Kenobi to stop wasting energy on them. But then Kenobi touches him, just lightly, on the arm, a feeling of serenity layering over his skin that is definitely not his own but needed nonetheless.

"I'll be going to the medics, now," Kenobi says, half an offer, half a dare. "See whether they need a hand."

"Thank you, sir," Cody blurts out.

And, with a smile, Kenobi answers, "Always."

Together, they walk back to camp. Together, they see to the suffering of Cody's people. And, perhaps, he is beginning to believe that General Kenobi truly sees them as his people, too.

[lady-wallace]

Over and Over: Whumptober Day 8 (JJBA)

Today’s @whumptober prompt is more Josuke whump. Gave the poor kid appendicitis today. 

Prompt: Everything Hurts and I’m Dying (stomach pain)

Fandom: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 4

Character: Josuke

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

Masterpost

~~~~~~~

Josuke woke up feeling like crap that morning.

He probably should have begged off school, but he didn't have a fever and he wasn't sneezing so his mom probably would have told him to go anyway. Besides, it was mostly just a stomach upset—probably something he'd eaten the day before or whatever. He wasn't originally going to worry too much about it, but then while he was sitting in the middle of second period, the pain seemed to be growing worse.

By lunch, he really wished he had stayed home.

"You're not eating anything, bro?" Okuyasu asked him as the three of them sat in their favorite spot on the low wall outside the cafeteria.

"Nah, my stomach kind of hurts today," Josuke muttered, drinking some water and trying to ignore the growing nausea.

Koichi frowned at him worriedly. "You look a little pale, are you sure you aren't getting sick or something?"

"Maybe," Josuke said, wrapping a protective arm around his middle. It wasn't exactly uncommon for him to have pain relating to the injuries he'd gotten from his fight with Kira, but…this wasn't in the same spot as the scar tissue that usually gave him trouble. Which made him wonder what the hell this was all about if it wasn't that.

"If you feel that bad maybe you should go to the nurse," Koichi said.

"Yeah, then maybe she'll send you home," Okuyasu added hopefully.

"I'm fine, really. Besides, I don't want my mom to get a call at work. It would just worry her."

His friends were silent. They actually knew more about how worried Josuke's mom had been while he was in the hospital than he did since he'd at least been unconscious for most of it. Still, he knew how much anything having to do with his health sent her off these days and if this was just a stomach bug, there was no point in worrying her. He'd just forget about homework today and sleep it off when he got home.

The nausea, unfortunately, seemed to only get worse as the day went on. Accompanied by the constant ache in his stomach, he was afraid he was going to puke. Honestly Josuke just wanted to lay down. He almost caved and asked to go to the nurse, but he only had one more class that day and didn't think it was really worth it. He'd probably get home sooner if he just waited now.

He breathed an audible sigh of relief as the last bell rang and hurried out of the school, meeting up with the others to walk home.

"You really don't look that good," Koichi told him as Josuke tried not to lag too noticeably.

"I feel pretty crappy," Josuke admitted honestly, and, yeah, he felt even worse than he had that morning. He had that horrible feeling in the back of his throat, like dread, that came before you threw up. Maybe he should stop fighting it so much and just do it. He might actually feel better, especially if this was food poisoning or something. But if it was, wouldn't be have been throwing up way more already? Probably some stomach flu then, unless…

The doctors had said there was a possibility of the scar tissue in his side causing problems in the future, but the majority of the pain was actually focused on the opposite side of his injury, so he really didn't think it was that. Maybe he should just stop eating cheap convivence store food.

"I hope you feel better tomorrow," Koichi told him as he left to split off down his street.

"Yeah, thanks," Josuke murmured, swallowing hard against the urge to vomit.

He and Okuyasu continued to their own street, when Josuke just couldn't swallow down the nausea anymore and staggered toward the bushes to one end of the sidewalk stomach heaving.

"Dude!" Okuyasu cried as Josuke gagged and vomited into the bushes, clutching his stomach as the action sent pain tearing through his middle.

He was forced to his knees as he retched again and Okuyasu threw his school bag on the ground, hurrying to grab Josuke's shoulder before he simply faceplanted in the bushes.

"You all right, Josuke?" his friend asked helplessly, rubbing his back as he kept a firm grip on Josuke's shoulder.

Josuke groaned, and finally managed to catch his breath a little, spitting onto the ground. God, why did his stomach hurt so much? He blinked wetness from his eyes and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand with disgust.

"You feel any better now?" Okuyasu asked hopefully.

"Not really," Josuke groaned, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he tried to breathe through the pain. "Stomach really hurts."

Okuyasu furrowed his brows. "You sure you shouldn't go to a doctor?"

"Nah, I'm just gonna sleep it off." Josuke started to climb to his feet, wincing slightly. Okuyasu helped him up and kept a hand on his shoulder the rest of the way to his house. Josuke was grateful for the support.

Okuyasu walked him to his door. "You sure you're gonna be okay, man?"

"Yeah, I'm just gonna rest," Josuke tried to smile but thought it was probably more of a grimace.

"Okay. See you later then."

Josuke unlocked the door and headed straight to his room, changing into his pajamas before crawling into bed. He felt a little better lying down, but was worried about the nausea coming back. That thought reminded him of the taste of bile still in his mouth and with a wince, he got up and went to brush his teeth, also grabbing some pain medicine.

When he was done, the front door opened as his mom came back.

"I'm home," she called.

Josuke bit his lip. He really didn't want her to know he was feeling so bad. He peeked down the stairs and she stared at him in surprise.

"What's this? Already in your pajamas."

Josuke forced a laugh. "Yeah, I feel kinda crappy, honestly. There's been something going around at school and I think I finally caught it."

His mom's brows instantly furrowed. "You're sick?"

"Don't worry about it, I just feel kind of gross. I'm just gonna sleep it off."

"Josuke, are you sure you're okay?" his mom asked.

For a brief second, Josuke thought about telling her how much his stomach hurt, but He still didn't think it was anything more than a stomach flu—the vomiting had pretty much confirmed that—so he didn't want her to get worked up over nothing.

"Yeah, nothing a little sleep won't fix," he said tiredly.

His mom sighed. "Well, all right, but tell me if it gets worse? I'll make sure to call into the school for you tomorrow."

"Thanks, mom," Josuke said and retreated to his room.

He flopped down on his bed and curled up into a position that hurt the least. After that he fell asleep pretty quickly.

XXX

He must have been out because he didn't wake again until next morning when his mom came to see him before work, pressing a hand worriedly to his forehead.

"Hm?" Josuke murmured, groggy.

"You're a little warm. I've left some medicine for the fever on your bedside table. There's also some soup in the fridge. Make sure to stay hydrated, okay?"

"'Kay," Josuke replied as his mom ran a hand briefly through his messy hair before she left.

Josuke took a deep breath and rolled over to sit up and take the medicine.

Pain ripped through his right side and he gasped out loud, doubling over.

"Shit," he hissed, swallowing down the instant nausea that welled in his throat. It wasn't going anywhere though and Josuke finally forced himself up and staggered across the hall, just barely making it before he threw up in the toilet.

The pain that resulted in just about made him pass out. He ended up lying on the cold tile floor, clutching his stomach and feeling like he was dying.

He was still there when the knock came on the door.

He groaned, but finally peeled himself off the floor and rinsed his mouth before he staggered downstairs and went to see who it was—if they were even still there.

It was Koichi and Okuyasu.

"Wow, you look awful," Koichi said worriedly as Josuke leaned against the door frame, a hand pressed to his stomach.

"We figured you probably weren't coming to school today, but we wanted to see if you needed anything," Okuyasu added.

Josuke shook his head. "No, I…I just need to lay down."

His knees shook and the urge to vomit was back. "Sorry," he gasped and hurried to the bathroom again, retching up bile since he had nothing in his stomach. As soon as he got his breath back he was sobbing from the pain.

"Josuke, you look really sick," Koichi said worriedly as he and Okuyasu appeared behind him to help steady him. Okuyasu handed him a cup of water and Josuke took it shakily, rinsing his mouth. "Did you tell your mom?"

"Didn't know it was this bad," Josuke muttered. Not exactly the truth, but maybe it was his fault for the denial.

"I really think you should see a doctor," Koichi said.

Josuke sank down until his back was against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest. "Don't want to go to the hospital again," he said truthfully, rubbing at his eyes. "I hate it. And I can't stand seeing my mom worry."

His friends took seats on opposite sides of him.

"What about if we go with you?" Koichi said.

"Yeah, you can get checked out and if it's nothing, your mom doesn't need to know," Okuyasu added.

Josuke wiped a hand under his nose. They were right, he knew it, but still…

"You'll miss school."

"It's all right, we'll just say we were helping a friend. I know my parents won't get mad about that," Koichi told him with a smile.

Josuke let out a shuddering breath and finally nodded. "Okay. I'll go."

They took a taxi and Josuke somehow managed not to throw up in the car. The nagging pain had turned to a constant ache now, and Josuke leaned against Okuyasu's shoulder while they sat in the waiting room, exhausted and hurting.

"Josuke Higashikata."

Dread welled up in his throat as he heard his name called. Koichi and Okuyasu gave him encouraging looks as Okuyasu helped him to his feet and Josuke followed the nurse.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait too long for the doctor who came in to examine him, asking Josuke about when he'd started feeling the pain.

Josuke nearly bit through his lip as the doctor felt his stomach, it hurt so bad.

"And the pain is concentrated around here, correct?" the doctor asked as he pressed the area to the right of Josuke's belly button.

"Yeah," he gasped.

The doctor nodded and took a few notes.

"So is it just a stomach flu?" Josuke asked half-heartedly.

The doctor looked at him. "No, I'm afraid not. But the good news is that I do know what it is."

"W-what?" Josuke asked.

"Appendicitis."

Josuke felt his heart sink as the dread sank back in. That would mean more surgery. Shit. Tears welled in his eyes and he tried to blink them away, but the doctor saw them anyway and reached out to rub Josuke's shoulder comfortingly.

"I promise it will be all right. It's a simple procedure and not at all an uncommon problem. We'll have you taken care of by tonight. I'll have the nurse get you settled. Would you like your friends to come stay with you?"

Josuke nodded gratefully. "Yeah, and…can I call my mom? She's at work."

"Of course."

Josuke dreaded making the call, but knew it would be better for his mom to hear it from him instead of someone else. Koichi and Okuyasu sat there with him for support when she showed up at the hospital, demanding to know why he hadn't told her it was so bad. Josuke didn't have an answer and instead just started crying. He blamed the pain and fever for it but it was still embarrassing.

His mom stopped talking though and simply pulled him into a hug, holding onto him until the doctors came to prep him for surgery.

It wasn't nearly as bad as the last time. They promised he would be out in a couple days, and he had to admit that between the lack of an infected appendix and the pain medicine he felt a lot better now.

Plus, he also got to eat all the jello and ice cream he wanted. That definitely made up for some of it.

[rosiehunterwolf]

@amourshipper393 so it begins 😈

faltering

Whumptober Day 8

Theme: Coughing Up a Lung (“Definitely Just a Cold”)

Word Count: 2,482

Whumpee: Nya

Timeline: Pre-pilots

Trigger Warnings: Illness, Blood, Choking

Summary: Growing up in their humble weapons shop, Nya’s used to not having much. But she has Kai. As long as the two of them are together, things will be alright.

That’s not to say that she doesn’t wish they had more, sometimes. It would be nice not to worry about their next meal, or how they would pay rent.

And, if they could afford medicine, maybe illness wouldn’t be so scary.

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Tumblr work under the cut

Nya set the last sword on the rack, breathing heavily. Finally, she was done with work. She had been eager to upgrade the heating, especially with winter coming, but the day had taken a lot out of her, and now she wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep.

Kai slumped next to her, startling her. “Long day, huh?” He shook their tip jar, frowning. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t always mean more service.”

“Sorry, I never got around to restocking those-” she paused, coughing. “Working on those-” she broke into another coughing fit, and Kai glanced at her with wary eyes.

He put a hand on her back, rubbing it gently. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, I probably just need a drink of water or something.”

Kai frowned, pulling his hand away from her back and moving it towards her forehead. “You’re warm.”

Nya yanked away from his touch. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Okay, fine, but don’t worry about doing the restocking. I’ll finish up in here.” As Nya turned to go, he added, “If you were to… I dunno, maybe sleep in a little later tomorrow and come in late to work, I don’t think I’d notice.”

“Then you need to get your eyes checked,” Nya grumbled. “Seriously, Kai, we have a business to run! You’re making a big fuss over just a little cold. Don’t worry about it.”

Kai opened his mouth, but before he could respond, she turned and left. The look on his face made her feel a little bad, but she reminded herself that she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and she didn’t like when Kai treated her like one. It would do him some good to stop focusing on her so much and think about himself for once, anyway.

Mom and Dad had been gone for a long time, now. It was about time she started growing up.

---

Much to Nya’s annoyance, her cold did not just magically disappear overnight.

“Stupid immune system, not doing its job,” Nya muttered to herself, wiping at her running nose as she adjusted a bolt on the heating system. She had finally gotten around to working on it, although, of course, now that she did have the time, it wasn’t cooperating, and she had this dumb cold in the way.

Turning away, she coughed, pressing her arm against her mouth to muffle the sound. Kai was just in the other room, and she didn’t want him fussing over her again. He would probably make her leave, and she wasn’t about to let him do all the work while she sat in bed and did nothing. Nya wasn’t one to sit around idly while others were busy. It was just a little bug. She was fine.

Almost immediately, her body seemed to shriek in protest, and she doubled over, muffling her coughs with both hands.

She leaned against the wall, panting. Her chest was burning. Maybe she should go suck on some ice cubes. Or, if she was lucky, there might be some cough medicine left over from a previous winter in their ominously barren medicine cabinet.

As she headed to the kitchen to check it out, she unfortunately found nothing in the way of medicine, so she settled on the ice cubes. Just like flavorless cough drops.

Except, they weren’t, because Nya knew cough drops actually had ingredients in them made to soothe your throat, but they were almost as pricey as regular medicine, so, like everything else, they didn’t have them. Ice cubes would have to do.

They didn’t seem to be helping much, but Nya kept them in her mouth, anyway. The fire that felt like it was burning along her throat and in her lungs made her willing to try anything, no matter how futile.

Kai suddenly shuffled into the kitchen, a pile of swords in hand, and Nya spat the ice cubes into the sink before he could ask about them, grabbing the glass of water off the counter instead.

Kai dropped the swords on the counter with a clatter, his face tired and his moments stiff and slow. He pushed his lips into a smile as he saw Nya, but she could tell it was forced.

“How’s the heater coming?”

“It’s… coming. And the shop?”

Kai sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Coming, too, I guess. Lot of orders today.” Kai gestured towards the pile of swords. “People want their stuff fixed. It’s just never good enough, I guess.”

Nya shot him a sympathetic glance. “They’re good weapons, Kai. People just use them a lot. The wear and tear builds up.”

“That’s the whole point of a weapon, isn’t it? To be able to withstand harsh conditions?” The fire died from his voice as he gazed sadly at the swords. “Guess that’s what I get for doing a sloppy job the first time.”

“You didn’t do sloppy,” she insisted. “You were busy. People were being demanding, inconsiderate. It’s a hundred times better than anything I can do.”

“Yeah.” He frowned, not looking at her. “I guess.”

“Let me help. You focus on just the swords, I’ll do the other chores.”

“Nya, I don’t know-”

Nya puffed. “Is this some sort of jab at me being a girl-” Raising her voice was a mistake, as it quickly cracked and she dissolved into coughing, bracing herself against the counter. She didn’t know how long it was before Kai was at her side, a hand on her back, and shoving a glass of water forcibly into her hand, along with a small red tablet. The look on his face as she drank, however, didn’t bode very well.

“Nya, you’re sick, you can’t be working in the shop. You can’t be working at all, you need to rest.”

“But you need me here! You’re too busy to do all this on your own!”

“I’ll manage. Besides, I can’t have you working near customers if you’re contagious, anyway.”

“I can at least work on the heater-”

“No, you can’t.”

Nya grumped, pulling her arms tighter to her body. “It’s freezing in here.”

Kai sighed. “I know, I’ll take a look. Until then, put on your coat, and there are some spare blankets in the closet.”

“Kai, you don’t know the first thing about mechanics.”

“I know more than you think,” he snapped. “Who do you think did that kind of stuff before you learned how? I may not be as good as you, but I’ll manage. Now, take your ibuprofen.” He pointed to the red tablet. “It won’t cure your cough, but it will hopefully help your fever.”

“I don’t have a fever.”

“Nya, don’t lie to my face. You’re warm as hell. You’re sweating and shivering at the same time.”

Nya glanced down. She hadn’t even noticed her hands were trembling.

“Fine.” She took the pill. “Better? Can I go now?”

Kai had paused, his head tilted, and he shook his head, pointing towards the couch in the living room. Nya sighed, slowly following him there. They both said nothing, and her brother leaned towards her.

“Kai, what-”

“Shhhh. Listen.”

“To what?” “Your breathing.”

Suppressing the urge to hold her breath, Nya fell silent. The room was quiet except for her breath- rattling through her chest unevenly.

“That’s not normal, Nya. We should take you to a doctor.”

“A doctor!” she gasped. “Are you crazy? That will put us in debt for the next year!”

Kai shook his head. “I don’t care. I’d live in a lifetime of debt if it meant I can guarantee you’re safe and healthy.”

“Kai, how would we pay our rent? We’d get kicked out!”

“I’d find a second job. I’d find somewhere for you to stay. Something.”

Nya felt her eyes welling up. “I don’t want you to do any of those things. We need to stick together.”

Kai sighed. “I know. But it’s not fair. I can’t let you just lie here, suffering, if there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“It’s not that bad, Kai. I’ll be okay without a doctor. This will go away on its own.”

Kai eyed her warily. “I will not have you exerting yourself. Working your body hard is only going to make you sicker. If I agree to let you skip the doctor’s visit, you’ll promise to rest all day?”

Nya bit back a groan. Great. Bedbound. What she had been trying to avoid. But she would do it, if it meant Kai wasn’t about to blow a bunch of money for no reason. “I promise.”

“Okay… but if you’re not better by tomorrow morning, I’ll go to the store and pick up some flu medicine.”

“Kai… you and I both know we don’t have the pocket for that.”

“It’s fine. Still way cheaper than a doctor. We’ll just have to go lighter on some of the groceries next time.”

“Kai, you can’t skip meals. You need to keep your strength up! If you get sick too, then who’s going to run the shop?”

“I won’t get sick,” he grunted, avoiding her eyes. “Look, I’ll figure it out, okay? But the medicine will come if you’re not feeling better tomorrow.”

“...Fine.”

“And if you need absolutely anything, I’ll be-”

“Kai!” she interrupted. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he sighed, standing up. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone, now.”

“Hey, Kai?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for looking out for me.”

“You can repay me by getting better.”

---

Although she would never admit it to Kai, Nya fell asleep almost instantly after her head hit the pillow. Her dreams were odd and fragmented, filled with the haze of fever, but the sleep was a cool blanket to the burning and aching of every part of her body.

The calm broke with her unconsciousness late in the night.

Nya heaved her face over the side of the bed, spitting up phlegm. Coughs racked her body, and she desperately tried to untangle herself from the blankets, briefly panicking as she got stuck.

Calm down. You’re fine. You’re fine.

She didn’t feel fine. She wanted to cry. Her throat was on fire, her chest burning with every breath.

I just need water. Scrambling onto the floor, she grabbed the bottle off of her nightstand, drinking only a couple of sips before it burned too much to bear.

Leaning her back against the bed, she tried to calm herself, to relax- but all she could focus on was the wheezing sound of her breath.

She had been fine! How had it gotten so bad?

It’s not bad. I just swallowed some phlegm in my sleep, that’s all. Next time, I’ll be more careful, I’ll prop my pillows up.

She couldn’t focus on next time right now, though. All that mattered was now- she had to get through this.

Her throat was wet, sticky with mucus. She coughed forcefully, trying to dislodge it, but her breath came in shallow, short pants. Nya curled her fists into the rug, trying not to gag.

Kai. I need Kai.

She could hardly breathe, she wasn’t going to be able to scream for him. But his room was all the way across the hall, and she couldn’t get up. She just needed him, she needed him; she was terrified, and she needed her big brother-

She didn’t know if it was adrenaline, or if she had finally coughed up some of the buildup, but at some point, she started screaming, and she didn’t stop. Part of her brain still told her she was fine, she was just a little sick, and was being a crybaby- but for once, she pushed that side of her brain away. She wanted Kai. Better to have him here and not need him than to not have him at all.

Still, it felt like forever before she heard thumping footsteps and he was skidding across the floor to her side, a hand on her back, a soft voice in her ear.

“Nya, Nya, I’m here, what is it, tell me what’s wrong, talk to me-”

She couldn’t talk- she couldn’t even stop coughing long enough to- so instead, she slumped against him, leaning into his touch. I need you, I need you-

“Nya? Nya, can you hear me? I’m going to call the hospital. I’m going to be really fast, then come right back, okay? Okay, will you be alright?”

“No, Kai....” she moaned. “That’s too much…. money…” It was already going to be a lot. If they sent an ambulance out to get her too, they might as well just sell everything they own right here and now.

“I don’t give a shit!” Kai roared. “Is it so hard for you to grasp that you’re more important to me than any amount of money?” He left her then, dashing for the phone, leaving Nya to contemplate his words. Would he really give up anything for her? Would she, him? She liked to think so, but yes was so simple to say. It was harder to do. She loved her brother, more than anyone, and hoped the answer was truly yes, but everything always was more complicated in the moment.

Including strange illnesses.

Nya closed her eyes as the coughs racked her weakening body. Why had she ever tried to be strong, to hide it? If she had rested from the beginning, could she have avoided this?

Kai was back again, his warm, firm hands comforting. “Don’t worry, Nya. Someone’s on their way here to help you. You’re going to be okay.”

Nya’s only response was a cough.

“Here, the man on the phone said to drink some water.” He handed her a glass, and Nya took it, the water shaking and sloshing as she raised it to her lips.

After she had been able to get most of the water down, Kai dragged a damp cloth across her face.

Nya pulled back from him, gagging, but Kai didn’t back down. “Are you going to throw up?”

“I… I don’t know.” Her gut was heaving, although she wasn’t sure there was much in it to bring up.

Nya snagged the cloth from him, choking into it before she could get mucus on him. When Kai finally tugged it away from her, she heard a sharp intake of breath, and she herself glanced over to see splatters of blood on the linen.

Nya trembled. “Kai.”

“Nya,” Kai whispered, pulling her close. “Hold on. You’re going to be okay.”

His voice was pinched as he gazed down at her, those usually tough, confident brown eyes fearful and uncertain.

“I’m scared.”

“I know. Me too. But you’re going to get help. You’re going to get better. I promise.”

Kai had never broken a promise he had made to her. Never. And she knew he would do everything he could to make sure this wasn’t an exception.

But they both knew that this promise wasn’t his to make.

[comfy-whumpee]

Adrift

Whumptober Day Eleven: Adript. TW: intimate whump, drugging, dissociation, unwanted touch, mention of food control.

Savvie belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow. Taglist: @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @burtlederp, @rosesareviolentlyread, @eatyourdamnpears

The bed is a white ship on the open black ocean, and Jax would literally rather fall off it and take his fucking chances than stay here a moment longer.

Savvie is a kraken with too many fucking tentacles of arms and legs and hair and hair and hair, she’s an ancient squid, she’s one of those stupid horror movie octopus monsters that reaches up from the depths and snatches men from the deck of the boat when your back is turned and all that’s left of them is a shoe or something.

The air of the bedroom might as well be water for all the fucking luck he’s having breathing it. His skin is on fire where her hair brushes against it in infinitesimal movements and he wonders if his scream would be as good as a signal flare exploding in the night sky in red and fire and fury.

She made him drink that fucking water again. His head is all over the place. Normally he’s a triple-train of thought and they run all at once too fast and he jumps between them like James fucking Bond but when she makes him drink that piss he’s like fireworks one after the other after the other and he can’t stick to one.

Fireworks. Signal flare. SOS from the boat that’s a bed in the middle of the ocean dark and shit, he knows his head’s gotten screwy when he starts thinking in metaphors like that creative writing class they made him try for his emotions back when he was eight.

They never did invite him back after the story he wrote about the boy who gunned down a dozen men to save the president but they did ask him a ton of questions about where the story had come from only to discover he was just rewriting a film Ben Whitecross had told him about at break on Tuesday.

Probably shouldn’t have done that illustration.

Ben Whitecross had denied it at first but only because he wasn’t meant to watch that film either and his mum had shouted her head off at him for sneaking downstairs in the night to watch the post-watershed action films.

Even back then, Jax had known more curse words than the others kids. He rehearses some to himself now, feeling floppy lips move to something like the shapes he wants. Pisscracker. Dogbollocks. Arseface.

He imagines saying them aloud. He imagines her fucking face. She’d cry. Or she’d get angry, and make him get on his knees, and then he wouldn’t cry but he’d pretend to be upset, and she’d yell at him not to use vulgar language and she’d get so annoyed she’d lock him in and eat lunch on her own and then come back expecting him to kiss her feet and apologise, or worse, come back all understanding and ready to work to fix it.

Maybe he should tell her he did classes to help with his anger and maybe she’d let him paint or some fucking shit. Lots of red paint.

Maybe he could use that, actually. Bargain time for the sunroom. Get more chances to get the fucking collar off with the buried shard of glass he’s got stashed away.

If he can hold onto that thought, he’ll do it tomorrow.

Ben Whitecross had been a good kisser. It was a bit awkward kissing in the changing room after PE but it was pretty cool to keep being friends after. Jax had really had a crush on his brother anyway. But Ben was alright.

He was living in Brighton or something now.

Or had been, when Jax was last around.

Fuck, it’s so dark. He can’t breathe. He’s got hours more of this to endure and his heart is beating too fast to let him sleep and it’s fucking exhausting being her stolen man whisked from the deck of a normal fucking life.

She’d want him to call her a siren in this story but that’s because she’s a pretentious ass. She’s the fucking creature from the deep. He’s never been this fuckin cold while being hugged under two thousand fucking blankets.

His mouth moves again, the faintest whisper. Cockstring. Shitfucker.

It’s good to hear them even if they feel like they’re coming from someone else’s mouth.

He feels like the woman from the Titanic movie on the sheet of ice, absolutely fucking freezing, with Savvie clinging to his side, making sure they both go under.

It must be the drug that’s making him feel this cold. Maybe he’ll numb out and he won’t be able to feel her anymore.

He wishes the drugs could make his thoughts just fucking stop for a minute.

Instead he lies on his back, limbs wrapped around him, and stares at a starless night sky with nothing but his own thoughts to flash in the dark.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 27: Extreme Weather

CW: Environmental whump, references to drug and alcohol use, references to Derrick (see: The Break-Up for his last appearance), Kauri’s Bad Life Choices, slut-shaming, trauma response, untreated abuse survivor with fucky headspace, referenced abuse

When Krista opens the door, Kauri stands on the doorstep to her apartment soaked to the bone, water dripping off the flattened curls of his hair, stuck to his forehead. Water runs in rivulets down his cheeks like tears, drips from the sleeves of his sweater onto her doormat.

She’s proud of that doormat. She picked it out at Target and it says Shoes Off, Witches. 

Krista decorates for every holiday, because she can, because the holidays belong to her. There are tiny pumpkins, alternately white and orange and painted with little patterns, lined up along the little railing on their concrete patio. She has little witch figurines in the centerpiece of the circular dining table she and Sonya found at a garage sale, and a Halloween wreath made of black and orange leaves hangs on the door.  

Mrs. Richardson didn’t celebrate Halloween, because of something to do with celebrating our sinful natures and something something demonic influences hidden in seeming fun and the devil something harry potter witchcraft something, but Krista celebrates every holiday, just because she can.

Sometimes she thinks of Miss Alyssa and wonders if she celebrates Halloween, now, too.

“What are you doing here, Kauri?” Krista squints past him, shivering against the chill air even in her big soft purple sweatshirt. It had cost her six hours of work to pay for it, it was so expensive, but it’s the softest thing she’s ever felt in her life, like wearing a cloud with a hood on it everywhere she goes. 

“Can I crash here?” Kauri blinks rainwater out of his eyes. 

Behind him, the rainstorm that’s been going for nearly three days continues, pouring water like it’s falling from overturned buckets from the dark gray skies. “Sorry, they shut the buses down, it’d take me like five hours to walk to the shelter from here, and…” He rocks up and down on the balls of his feet, and Krista winces at the squelch from his thin black-and-white checked shoes. 

Krista takes a deep breath, looking over her shoulder. Sonya is still in the bedroom, finishing up a call for work, speaking in her Phone Voice, softer and pleasant, with all the edges sanded off. When Krista was a pet, she spoke in a voice like that. Sonya speaks for her job to men who constantly interrupt her, but somehow when she does it, the voice is gentle but commanding, where Krista always felt her voice just sounded… weak. “I don��t know, Kauri, I’m not… I’m not sure.”

“Please?” Kauri’s eyes are huge and blue, and water frames them as it runs from his hair. He shudders, as a winter breeze blows at his back. A spatter of the tiniest water droplets is blown with it, and Krista blinks rapidly against the feeling. “Please? It’s just for tonight, they said the buses should be running tomorrow morning if it doesn’t get worse… please?”

“If it doesn’t get worse,” Krista repeats, her eyes scanning back into the parking lot. Someone drives past, their headlights on, and the rain falls in such thick sheets that Krista can only see their headlights, not even the car.

Who would drive, in something like this?

She looks back at Kauri, and figures maybe someone who would walk in rain like this, someone who doesn’t have a choice. Not every business is closed, after all, and not everyone can work from their laptop like Sonya. Not everyone can afford the days off if they call in. There are people who don’t have the option to stay safe from the floods. There are people who are told to risk their lives or they will not eat. 

There are times Krista wonders how anyone doesn’t become a pet. At least she never had to watch a paycheck disappear from a bank account nearly as soon as it was deposited before.

Not that she knows of, anyway.

“It’s just overnight,” Kauri says, softly. “I know she doesn’t like me, but… but it’s just one night.”

She looks at him, in his soaked-up shoes, shivering in the rain and with his backpack dripping as hard as everything else, and then she sighs. The felt leaves on the Halloween wreath rustle against the door as she steps back and to the side. “Take your shoes off and stay on the mat, I’ll get you a towel to get you to the shower. I think you can probably wear some of my sleeping clothes.”

Kauri’s eyes brighten, and he kicks off his sopping shoes and peels off soaked-through white cotton socks. His toes are wrinkled from being wet for so long, and he spreads them with a sigh of relief against the rough doormat. 

“Thank you, Krista, thank you so much-”

“Get inside,” She says, but her voice is gentle, and he steps in to stand on the inside doormat (this one just says I hope you brought tacos) while Krista walks away, across the soft beige-gray-nothing-color carpet in the apartment, swinging around the low-slung coffee table by the couch. She ducks into the small bathroom and grabs the towels off the towel rack.

Sonya calls out, “Baby, do I hear someone at the door?”

Krista hesitates, towels in hand - she bought them at Target, too, the bathroom is fall-themed and the towels are a deep saturated pumpkin orange and a hunter green and they have cream-colored stitching that reads thankful and choose joy - and looks towards the closed bedroom door. “Um, yes. You remember Kauri Grant?”

There’s a pause, and then the bedroom door cracks open, and Sonya peeks through. Her short, straight brown hair is pulled back with clips to keep it out of her eyes, and she’s still in her pajama pants and t-shirt from last night. “That druggie friend of yours? The homeless guy?”

Krista shakes her head, nervously twisting the bunched-up towels in her hands. “He’s, he’s not-... he’s not on drugs, Sonya, I told you he’s not on drugs.”

“But he is homeless.”

“... yes.”

Sonya’s lips are a straight line, and the look she gives Krista makes her heart flip unhappily. Kauri always makes Sonya look like this. She doesn’t trust him, thinks he’s going to get Krista arrested, thinks he deals or buys or something, but Krista knows the truth and it’s a truth she can’t tell.

If she told Sonya what Kauri is, there would be questions, and then Krista would have to explain what she is, and she… she can’t.

What if Sonya reported him? Krista would shatter if she were the reason someone had to go back. So… she keeps his secret for him, and it’s just one lie, but it means Sonya only ever believes the worst.

“Well.” Sonya takes a deep breath. “What does he want?”

“They stopped running the buses,” Krista says, keeping her voice low. “Because the roads are so flooded.” The TV is still going, running a show Krista doesn’t even remember turning on, and Kauri is still on the inside doormat, dripping and cold and wet and in need of somewhere to stay. “He just wants to crash overnight, Sonya. Please.”

“I’m tired of you letting this guy take advantage of you, Kris,” Sonya says, and then just sighs, raking a hand through her hair and getting it caught on the clips, frowning and jerking her fingers back out, leaving her hair all mussed and beautiful. Krista wants to kiss her, but this isn’t the time. 

“It’s just one night-”

“It’s never just anything with Kauri Grant, Kris, and you know it. Just one night with Kauri Grant means he’ll eat half the food in our kitchen and you’ll end up washing his clothes for him-”

“He shouldn’t have to pay for laundry!”

“How come he can’t stay at a motel or something?”

“I don’t know, probably he hasn’t been making much money, if it’s raining people don’t go walking around to give-”

“Oh but somehow he always has money for drinks when he calls to see if you want to go out, though? You think I haven’t noticed that?”

Krista sets her jaw, at that. “Sonya. Please don’t do this. You know he almost never has to pay for drinks-”

“Because he’s fucking all the bartenders, Kris!”

“He just needs somewhere to crash for a single fucking night. Come on, Sonya, don’t be-... don’t be like this. He’s my fucking friend. It’s not like I have a lot of those.”

She never curses, and the unusual word coming from her lips pulls Sonya up short from whatever she intended to say next. There’s a silence, and then her girlfriend sighs and pushes the door open a little more. She holds out her arms and Krista steps into them, taking the tight embrace and soaking it up.

On the bed, their black cat Pepperjack looks up, gives a soft chirping meow, and lays his head back down again. 

“I’m sorry,” Sonya says, softly. “I know you care about him. I just wish I understood why.”

Because we’re the same, in all the ways that made us. Because he needs to know there are places where he is allowed to stay. Because of a million reasons I can’t tell, secrets I have to keep. 

Because he’s a ghost, and he wears the face of someone who died for him to be born.

Just like I wear a dead girl’s face, just like Leila does, like Chris and Antoni and all of us, we’re all walking around in someone else’s discarded body.

And I can’t tell you.

“He’s my friend,” Krista says again, more softly, and kisses Sonya’s cheek. Her girlfriend turns her head to turn it to a kiss on the lips, and Krista relaxes into the soft reassurance that comes with the love in that kiss. “One of my first friends, really. He’s just going through some stuff right now-”

“Baby, you always say he’s going through some stuff. When does he finish going through it and get out on the other side of all that stuff?”

Krista sighs, and nuzzles her way back into another kiss. “I don’t know. But he’ll leave as soon as the buses are running again, I promise, okay?”

Sonya nods, and they rest their foreheads together for a moment, let the softer silence stand. Then Sonya says, quietly, “Okay, baby. Just. I feel like Pepper over there is all the strays we need in our life, you know?”

“I know,” Krista murmurs. “But he’ll have somewhere to go once it stops raining, I promise.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll start making a list for replacing all the goddamn groceries he’s gonna eat.”

“He doesn’t get much good food out there-”

“Kris. He’s a taker. He uses you. And when he’s here, he uses us. I don’t see why you don’t get that.”

“He’s not-”

“Kris, listen to me. Stop trusting some pretty dude who is just going to get you hurt when he pisses the wrong person off. I know you guys met at the same homeless house or whatever, but he’s going nowhere fast and you can’t let him take you with him.”

“Sonya, stop.”

“Kris-”

“I said stop it.” She pulls back and away, grabbing some of her baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt from the pile of ‘clean’ clothes folded on top of the dresser until she has the energy to put them in the dresser - which is never, Krista delights in being able to be messy in her own home - and carries them out. Sonya stands in the doorway watching her go, and then sighs and goes back to her headset, back to work.

Kauri, still just inside the doorway, is lowering his phone from his ear as Krista comes into view. Nat bought him that phone, so she’d know Kauri was alive the weeks he was gone. Nat bought him the phone, he bought his clothes with panhandling money, his sweatshirt is Dustin’s. The backpack he found abandoned at a bus stop. 

Nothing Kauri is wearing, or holding, is really his own.

A little plastic ziplock-style sandwich bag sticks out of his pocket. He had his phone in it to keep it dry, Krista thinks, and wonders how long he’s been wandering around out there in the rain. She hesitantly speaks up. “Here, Kauri, I’ve got towels and some clothes to change into-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kauri says, softly, and glances up at her  before he looks down again. Water drips from his hair onto the phone’s screen and he wipes at it with his finger, squinting. “I’ll be gone in a second.”

“What?” Krista goes still, and realizes that she and Sonya were not as quiet as they thought they were. “What do you mean? It's pouring-”

“I called someone,” Kauri says, flat and sharp, without looking at her. “Gonna walk to that bus stop with the little roof and he’ll come get me. Don’t worry about it.”

“Jake? It’s not- Kauri… it’s not safe for Jake to drive all that way across the city, half the roads are flooding-”

“Not Jake.” Kauri isn’t just not looking at her, he can’t. His face is a little red, splotches on his pale cheeks. Is some of the water on his face tears, now, and not from the rain? “I know someone else who lives near here. He’s coming to get me.”

“Kauri…” Krista closes her eyes, guilt twisting around inside of her that he’d heard. He knows Sonya doesn’t like him, but Kauri is so sensitive to being disliked. She should have pulled Sonya into the bedroom and closed the door. “Who is it?”

Kauri blows air through his nose. “It’s Derrick.”

Krista hitches in a breath in surprise. “Your ex? Kauri, didn’t-... didn’t he threaten you when you broke up?”

Kauri shakes his head, gives her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No. I misunderstood him, that’s all. I thought, um, I thought he was angry, but he was just… sad. The whole stupid fight was my fault anyway, and I’ve seen him since and he agreed to be friends. It’s fine. I asked, and he wants me there. I’ll sleep on his couch.”

No, you won’t. We both know you won’t.

“He wants you there,” Krista parrots, plaintively. “Kauri, you don’t have to leave, or anything, I swear. I’ll make you a bed up-”

“It’s fine,” Kauri repeats, and gives her another breezy, airy smile. He sticks his phone back into the little clear bag, closes it up, and shoves it back in his pocket. He slips his soaking-wet shoes back on and Krista winces as she hears the way his feet push water around inside them. “I’m fine, Krista, it’s really not a big deal. Derrick always says I can call him, when I run into him-”

“You’re still seeing him?” Krista licks at her lips. She holds the towels and clothes useless in her arms like a child hugging a teddy bear, feeling guilty and useless. Kauri came here for somewhere safe to stay, and felt unwanted, and now…

“No, but he… we show up at the same places sometimes.”

“... Kauri, is he following you?”

Kauri gives a brittle, bright laugh. “What? No! It’s fine.”

“It’s fine,” Krista repeats, and then says softly, “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. You… you always say it’s fine. How many times can you say it before you just… admit when it’s not, Kauri?”

Kauri’s smile drops, for a second. His blue eyes meet hers, haunted and sad, making the choice to hurt himself rather than be hurt by anyone else. Kauri Grant is a ghost, she thinks, and very nearly says out loud. You don’t have to haunt us, Kauri. You could have a home.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the hood of his zip-up sweatshirt over his head, where it flops, just as soaked-through as everything else, providing no safety from the rainfall at all. Water drips off of it onto his nose. “I’ll say it as many times as it takes to believe it,” He says, heavily.

“For who to believe it? Us, or you?”

“I’ll catch you later, Krista. No big deal. Thanks for letting me hang out for a minute.”

Krista watches, helpless, as Kauri turns and walks back out into the rain, shoulders hunched. The rain is so thick that he disappears from view before he’s even fully across the parking lot. From a man to a shade of the fog to nothing at all.

Sonya wanders out of the bedroom to find Krista still staring outside, through the open door. “Baby? Where’s your friend?”

“Where’s my friend? He heard us talking.” Krista’s voice is thready trembling. “He found someone else to stay with.”

The ex-boyfriend, who told Kauri he was a ditz and kind of dumb, who told him he was lucky someone put up with how difficult he is, who broke up with him while threatening and scaring him, who… who still let him leave, at least.

So it’s better than where he came from, maybe.

But not by much.

“Oh. So he did have somewhere else to go. Probably he just called his dealer, Krista. Nobody looks that strung out without being on something.”

Krista’s fingers tightened on the cloth she held in her hands until the tension hurt, ached up her arms and to her shoulders. “Sonya, he’s just-... he’s messed up, but he’s not-... he’s not on drugs. He’s just had a hard-... a hard life.”

“Yeah, I mean, a lot of us have. But you always let him take advantage of you, Kris. That’s all. That’s all I worry about. I mean, I’m sure he’s a fine guy, but I’m not on Team Kauri, you know? I’m Team Krista. I worry way more about how you get all weird for a couple days every time he’s here.”

“Sonya-”

“He’ll be fine.”

Krista shakes her head, but repeats, “He’ll be fine,” to settle her own nerves. She realizes belatedly that Kauri’s socks are still balled up on the concrete step outside her door, and she moves forward, closes the door, and does up the locks, leaving them there for now.

Maybe he’ll come back for them.

He probably won’t.

Pepperjack meows softly at her, and she turns to see the black cat winding his way around a leg of the coffee table. Something in his eyes looks… reproachful. Pepper likes curling up with Kauri when he stays over, warm against his back or on his chest, just under his chin. 

Krista walks past Sonya to hang the towels back up, puts her clothes back in the clean clothes pile, and curls up on the couch with Pepperjack in her lap and Sonya at her side. Warm, dry, and guilty.

She sent the ghost away - or Sonya did - or she did, by not defending him enough… and still, Krista feels haunted. She pulls her own phone out from the pocket in her pants and texts Jake. He went back to Derrick.

She doesn’t have to say who he is. She sees when Jake reads the message, but he doesn’t send anything back right away. Maybe he’ll call Kauri. Maybe he’ll convince Kauri to go somewhere other than his shit ex-boyfriend’s place. Maybe maybe maybe, but it all relies on Kauri not running away.

It all relies on Kauri. Kauri’s a survivor, she tells herself. They all are. She texts Jake again. I’m sure it’s okay. I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’m sure.

Yeah, is all Jake sends back. She can feel the anger through the inconsequential bloodless single-word response. Anger, fear, and worry.

She closes her eyes. 

He’ll be fine. He’s fine.

How many times do they tell each other Kauri is fine, when everyone knows it’s not true?

---

@maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly @whumpiary @whump-tr0pes  @raigash @cubeswhump

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 24

I kinda got way too into writing this one. I just wanted to keep going and going, really could have added more than I did, and couldn't figure out where to end it...then I realized that tomorrow's prompt was perfect for a part 2. So that's what I did. Yay, our first ever part 2! Anyway, check the warnings if you don't mind some mild spoilers, this one does get a little rougher than some but ahh...I think it's one of my favorites. And it's a good thing so many of you said you love platonic Kidge because here it comes again!

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Day 24 - Forced Mutism/Blindfolds/Sensory Deprivation

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: restraints, torture, sensory deprivation, electric torture, dislocation, muzzle, broken bones, mild blood

Pidge was getting aggravated. Scratch that, she was way past the point of aggravation, she was ticked off. It had been four quiznaking days since the quiznaking Galra had captured her, and she had just been sitting in this quiznaking cell ever since, for no quiznaking reason. Nobody had even come to see her! No threats, no questions, no torture, nothing. What was the quiznaking point of capturing a Paladin of Voltron if you were gonna just ignore her?

Not that she was, like, dying to be tortured or anything. More than once since her arrival, screams had echoed down the hall, sending shivers down her spine and making her stomach turn somersaults. 

No, the thought of being tortured definitely terrified her. But she was getting pretty sick of sitting in an empty cell with her ankle chained to the wall. The only interaction she’d had so far was with the stupid sentries that brought her food, and they couldn’t carry on a conversation to save their precious Empire. She was lonely, okay? Yeah, she was an introvert who could spend days on end locked in her room, but that was on her terms, and she had her computer and projects to keep her company. 

At least being lonely meant that she didn’t have to worry about any of her teammates. They were out there, looking for her, she knew it, and that was the best place for them to be. If any of them had ended up in there with her and got hurt...she didn’t know what she’d do. They were her family. Yeah, she still believed Matt and Dad were out there, and she was bound and determined to find them. But this team was her family, too, in a weird and wonderful way, and she’d do anything to keep them safe. 

Finally, on the morning of day five, the cell door creaked open, and somebody who actually wasn’t a sentry stepped inside. 

“It’s about time,” Pidge snapped before the soldier even had time to speak. “You guys don’t get in a hurry around here, do ya?”

The Galra - a lieutenant by the design of his armor - was taken by surprise for an instant, but quickly recovered with a smirk. “My profuse apologies. We’ve had...other pressing matters to deal with. But rest assured, you have our full attention now.”

Pidge gulped. Well that wasn’t really what she wanted. But she wasn’t going to let him know that. She lifted her chin.  “Good.”

His smile grew. “Since you’re so eager to see me, should I assume that you’re ready to cooperate?”

Crossing her arms, Pidge narrowed her eyes. “Never. I don’t even care what it is you want from me.”

“A list of planets that have joined your Coalition,” he immediately replied. “See, nothing too complicated. Not even anything to do with your beloved Voltron.”

“Yeah right. I told you, it’s not happening.”

“Very well.” The lieutenant nodded amiably. “I had a feeling that would be your answer. That’s why I came prepared.” Leaning back, he knocked twice on the wall next to the door.

Pidge sneered. “It doesn’t matter what you bring in here, I’m not gonna -”

She cut off her own tirade as two grunt soldiers appeared, dragging and then harshly shoving something very person-looking onto the floor. It wasn’t until the something had tumbled a couple of times and came to a halt facing her that she was absolutely sure that it was a person. A very human-like person. A very battered person. 

He wore only a pair of tight black pants that reminded her of her own flight suit, and all his skin above that was painted with purple and blue and even black in some places. More disturbing than that, though, was what covered his entire face. A blindfold, for starters. And over his nose and mouth, a hideous metal contraption with thick straps holding it in place. 

It was a muzzle. 

Pidge was already feeling nauseous at seeing this guy’s state. But then she noticed the hair. And that’s when her stomach plummeted to her toes. 

“Keith?”

It couldn’t be him. He wasn’t supposed to be here. She would have known if he had been here the whole time, being... being hurt, being tortured...oh quiznak, it hadn’t been him she had heard screaming...had it?

“Ah, so you do recognize him.” The lieutenant chuckled, crossing over and nudging at Keith’s metal-covered chin with the toe of his boot. “It is a bit difficult with his... accessories.”

“What did you do to him? Keith!” She didn’t even care that the tears clogging up her throat were very much audible.

“Oh, don’t strain yourself trying to get his attention, dear. He won’t be able to hear you.” Crouching down, he grabbed a handful of that unmistakable black hair and yanked until Keith’s head and shoulders were up off the ground and his face was turned to the side. A muffled moan came from under the muzzle, and Pidge’s heart squeezed.

“You see this?” The Galra pointed to Keith’s ear, where she could just barely make out something purple. “Blocks all sound.” He released the hair, and Keith’s head dropped to the concrete floor with a crack that made her flinch. “Just like this blocks all light -” he ran a finger over the blindfold -“and this, of course, keeps him from speaking.” He grabbed the muzzle and shook it. “He can still make some quite delightful sounds, though. All of it works together to make doing things like this so much more entertaining.”

One of the soldiers stepped forward, producing a long stick from somewhere on his person and jabbing it into Keith’s ribs. It crackled with purple lightning, and he screamed, writhing on the floor.

Pidge lurched forward, despite already knowing that her leash wouldn’t let her reach him. “Stop! Stop it, don’t hurt him!”

The lieutenant laughed aloud. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? He has no idea what’s coming for him and when.”

The rod made contact again, at his waist this time. The sound that came out of him was awful, literally the worst thing that Pidge had ever heard. She glared at the lieutenant through tear-filled eyes.

“You’re a monster.”

He flashed her a brilliant, sharp-toothed smile. “Thank you. I do try. Now…” Standing, he strode a few steps in her direction. “Would you like to reconsider telling me about those planets, or should we continue?”

No! she screamed inwardly. No, you can’t make me choose. This is the fate of the universe we’re talking about here, but he’s...he’s my brother! A brother that maybe she didn’t know all that well, considering how they both sucked at social interactions, but that just meant she understood him more than the others. Besides, she knew enough. She knew he was brave, and painfully shy, and had a heart of gold beneath his tough-guy exterior. She knew he didn’t deserve this. 

But what could she do? As much as it killed her, she couldn’t throw away the safety of millions of people for him. There was no guarantee they’d actually stop hurting him, anyway. And if they did...he’d never forgive her. Keith always put the safety of others before his own.

“Well?”

Gritting her teeth, she kept her eyes on the terrified, trembling boy on the floor. “I can’t.”

“Very well, then.”

She expected the rod again, but instead both of the soldiers went at him with their heavy boots, pounding the toes into his already destroyed flesh over and over again. He made no noise after the first couple of strikes, only curled in on himself as best he could with his hands cuffed behind his back, instinctively trying to protect his organs. It didn’t matter, though, the sounds the boots made against his body were bad enough. She was pretty sure she heard the pop of ribs breaking. She thought she might puke.

Instead, she sank to the floor with weak legs, crawling forward until the chain was taut and she was as close to him as she could get. The tears that had flooded her eyes until then spilled over, streaming down her cheeks. 

Keith. She wanted so badly to be able to reach out, to comfort him, to let him know she was there. But he wouldn’t know it was her, even if she could. He’d probably flinch away, thinking she was yet another who meant him harm.

“I wonder what he’d think,” the lieutenant began, as if reading her thoughts, “if he knew you were here. If he realized that you had the power to make this stop, that all of this pain was your fault.”

The barb struck true, but Pidge clenched her fists and refused to let it embed itself any further. “Your fault,” she growled. “This is your fault, not mine. You’re the monster here.”

Rather than answering, he reached up and grabbed a chain from the ceiling, pulling it down with a deafening rattle and hooking it onto Keith’s manacles. Taking his cue, grunt soldier number one crossed to a crank on the wall and began to turn. The chain slowly retracted, taking Keith’s wrists with it. Pidge slapped her hands over her mouth to stifle a sob as she saw him realize what was happening and scramble to get his feet under him, slipping back onto his knees more than once before he succeeded, and swaying heavily once he finally stood.

The chain kept going. They weren’t satisfied once it was pulled taut, they kept cranking until he was forced to bend over forward with his arms straight out behind him, and Pidge was worried his shoulders were going to come out of their sockets.

“Stop. Stop it! That’s enough!”

The grinding of the crank halted, and the lieutenant turned to face her. “Yes? Was there something you’d like to share?”

Pidge deflated from where she had risen up on her knees. “N-no.”

“Hm.” He waved a hand at the soldier, and the crank was turned one more time. Keith’s head fell further down.

Grunt soldier number two took the rod and thrust it straight down into the center of his back. Keith almost fell, but somehow managed to lock his knees in the midst of shaking and screaming. 

Pidge’s fingernails bit into her palms and her teeth into her bottom lip. She couldn’t even imagine how that felt on his spine, not to mention the jarring on his overextended shoulders. 

She hated this. The names of the planets he wanted to know were right on the tip of her tongue, a whole list that she had memorized long ago. All she’d have to do is say one, and they’d at least give him a little bit of a break, right?

But just one name meant thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands of people facing this kind of violence in retribution for joining the Coalition. 

It wouldn’t be the boy who she saw as a brother. 

But it would be equally as horrible for so many others. She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for that, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to for this, either. 

And she was growing more uncertain by the minute that Keith would forgive her for this.

“Are you sure you have nothing to say?”

Pidge stared straight ahead, refusing to answer.

Circling to the other side of his prisoner, the lieutenant jerked Keith’s head up by his hair again, putting untold strain on his neck. A quiet whimper came from behind the muzzle. “You know, it is a bit of a pity that we can’t see his facial expressions. I just love seeing the pain in their eyes.” Drawing his fist back, he slammed it into the only exposed skin on Keith’s face, his cheekbone, snapping his entire head to the side. When he released his hair, letting his head drop back down toward the floor, there were multiple strands of black hair still stuck between his fingers. Pidge watched them flutter to the floor with a knot in her chest.

“Will you leave him alone? I’m not going to tell you anything!”

“Sorry, dear. No can do. You have to give me something if you want something in return.”

Grunt soldier number one suddenly came back to life, kicking Keith’s knee out from under him. The kick itself probably didn’t hurt. The subsequent stumble that dislocated his shoulder with a loud, sickening crack did.

“No!” Pidge cried, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out his wail. “Keith!”

“Anything to say?”

“I hope you rot!” she shrieked, lunging forward as if she could get her hands around his throat. “When our team finds us, and they will, I will make sure that you die a slow and painful death!”

The lieutenant threw his head back and laughed. “You’re cute. Maybe once I’ve gotten what I want from you, I’ll just keep you for entertainment. My little pet.”

Keith was still trying to struggle back onto both feet. His breathing was ragged, audible even through the metal, and he trembled even harder than before.

Glancing at a screen on his wrist, the lieutenant sighed. “Unfortunately, I have other matters I must attend to. This seems like as good of a time as any to leave you two to think for a while. Rest assured, I will be back soon.”

With that, he was gone, leaving Pidge with a raw, bleeding ankle and tear-soaked face, and Keith still in a stress position with no senses, wondering when the next blow would come.

“Keith,” she whispered into the once again quiet cell. “I’m so sorry.”

[glimmerglanger]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 6

Day 6 of whumptober and part 6 of the oof!au. (Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Eventual happy(ish) ending. Past/eventual Codywan. One-sided Vaderwan.)

I.... arranged this preface a little different today because we’ve moved into the peak of Anakin’s nastiness, today and tomorrow. He’s laying the ground work for his own defeat, but we’re not there, yet. It’s also a brief return to using the right prompt on the right day! Look at that! Technically “Get It Out” probably applies, actually....

Warnings for torture, abuse of a prisoner, non-con (of a particularly twisted sort), being mind controlled into hurting someone you love in some pretty awful ways. PLEASE heed the warnings. Dead dove, do not eat, etc. 

No 6. PLEASE…. 

“Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please”

 The med-droids rarely had reason to file reports on Mustafar. Vader didn’t care what they did to the troopers. He left those reports, taking a twisting sort of pleasure in it, to filter through to 2224, who… Likely did nothing with them. Why would it? Vader demanded only reports on Obi-Wan’s progress, as time went past.

Apparently, he had died twice while they worked to preserve his life after Vader crushed his throat to make him stop speaking about Shmi. Still, they had managed to get him stabilized, managed to keep him alive, which was as it should be. He was only permitted to die when Vader decided he was, and--

And Vader was not ready for that moment, regardless of Obi-Wan’s foolish decisions. He tossed the report aside, ignoring a comment about severe damage to Obi-Wan’s vocal cords - apparently they were not sure they could repair them - fury curling around in his gut and through his bones. He’d known Obi-Wan was a monster, but to say such things about his mother--

She hadn’t deserved anything that had happened to her. Her entire life had been a punishment for crimes uncommitted. Finding her in the village of the Sand People had proven to Anakin that the galaxy needed direction, a strong hand, someone to make things right--

He swallowed, his respiratory and cardiac systems entirely out of order, the image of his mother chained up, brutalized, rising in his mind, memories he didn’t want and fought so hard to bury. He shut his eyes, shaking his head, and when he opened them again he was staring at the rack where Obi-Wan had hung.

For an awful, lurching moment, his mind supplied an image of his mother, hanging there, instead, and of Obi-Wan strung up in the Sand People’s hut, and he lurched a step backwards, a scream caught in his throat as he lashed out with the Force.

No one came to check on him, despite the cacophony of noises that must have echoed out from the room. When he did call the troopers in, later, he only said, “Remove that. I never want to see it again.”

He listened, staring out at the lava, as they dragged the twisted pieces of the rack, still covered with Obi-Wan’s blood - not his mothers, never his mother’s, he could have never hurt her, never - away.

#

Obi-Wan had done something to him, Vader realized, later, when he found himself down in the infirmary, staring at the bacta tank where Obi-Wan floated, healing slowly from the latest wounds he’d forced Vader to inflict upon him.

Obi-Wan had - had gotten into his head, somehow. He must have found a way around the collar. He’d used the poison of his words to steal Vader’s ability to think clearly, to rest. He could not stop conflating the images of his mother and Obi-Wan, which was -- ridiculous. 

They were nothing alike.

Obi-Wan had never done anything but fail him, but turn Padmé against him, but try to hold him back and confuse him, diverting him from his true purpose. Vader stared at him, fists clenched, and resolved to make Obi-Wan pay for everything he’d done.

Including the new nightmares, playing out each time Vader closed his eyes. Vader tried to make him pay, after the med-droids repaired him, but his voice wouldn’t work, even after the droids said he was recovered. Vader sent Obi-Wan back, for more work, eaten up by the nightmares and memories echoing in his head.

He needed to make Obi-Wan pay. Somehow. He had time to think of something appropriate, while Obi-Wan recovered.

#

The nightmares remained, terrible, confusing things put in his head by Obi-Wan, through another campaign. Vader returned to Mustafar in a foul temper, feeling so full of anger at the injustice of it all that he almost vibrated with it. 

He found he did not care if Obi-Wan had recovered or not, barking an order that Obi-Wan be delivered to him, immediately. He’d taken injuries, been sloppy, during the campaign. Some of the rebels had gotten away, because Obi-Wan would grant him no peace, had him spinning out of control.

Well. He fully intended to regain his control of this entire situation. Of Obi-Wan. Of his thoughts. He opened the windows to the lava flow below, all the way, wanting the convective heat to blow in around him, wanting the charred air to fill his lungs. He stood before the window, his hands clenched at his back, feeling just as full of fire and upheavals as the volcano, so far below.

He did not turn to look, when the door opened.

“I see you’ve redecorated, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his voice strange. Hoarse. Quiet, only barely over a whisper. Infuriating as his words.

Anakin spun on his heel, snarling, feeling the hot air lift and tug at his cloak as he spat, “I’ve indulged your impertinence long enough, old man. You will call me by my proper title.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, blue eyes unblinking and faded. There were dark bruises under his eyes. His cheeks cut sharp, especially without any beard to hide them. Troopers held his arms. 2224 gripped the chain at his neck. And yet, still, Obi-Wan stood with his back straight and his shoulders back, his head high, as though--

As though he had any right to dignity. 

Obi-Wan said, staring right at him, his voice quiet and raspier than Anakin had ever heard it, “I will call you by your name. It doesn’t matter what you do, you cannot avoid who you are. Anakin.”

Something hot and pure as lightning ran down the back of Vader’s back, dug teeth into him and spread through his gut. He could not allow Obi-Wan to keep mocking him in his own place of power. He could not allow Obi-Wan to have this hold on his dreams, to hurt him, somehow. He took a step forward, growling, “I am Lord Vader. Anakin is dead.”

That weak failure of a boy was gone. He’d burned down in the lava flows. All that had remained was the core of Vader, strong enough to do what needed done, to herald the galaxy towards order and peace. 

Across from him, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, managing to look supremely unimpressed, chained and bound and otherwise naked, utterly at Vader’s mercy - he’d proved that over and over - and still refusing to acknowledge his utter defeat. 

But why would he, Vader thought, sharply. He’d obviously done something. Struck out at Vader’s mind. Planted nightmares there, left him dry heaving as he woke up, plagued with - with the ghosts of guilt and regret and--

And he had no room for those weak emotions in his life. He would burn them out, destroy them in the fire. Destroy Obi-Wan in the same fire, if required. If he would not be remade into an appropriate shape. He considered the plans he’d made, during the campaign, breathing hard, hesitating for just a moment as he said, “I give you one last chance. Kneel and greet me properly.”

Obi-Wan drew in a little breath, scowled, found some way to straighten his spine yet further and said, “You are Anakin Skywalker and you will never--”

Vader activated the collar and watched him fall, watched him spasm across the ground, watched him struggle for breath, when the pain stopped. “I tried to be reasonable with you,” he said, the heat of Mustafar curling around him, the heat of his rage kindled within him. “Remember that. But, obviously, you require a firmer hand. You will call me Vader, before we leave this room.”

Obi-Wan said nothing, rocking himself up onto his knees, blood dripping from his nose, splatters of it across the ground. “I will never,” he rasped, mouth quirking, infuriating.

Vader exhaled, harshly. His hands clenched and his gut burned with anger, fury that Obi-Wan would push him to this, would not just accept-- “You’ve brought this on yourself,” he said, “and so I’ll let you stop it, at any time. Call me my proper name, and you may return to your cell.”

“I--”

“I don’t let my men enjoy themselves nearly enough,” Vader barked, talking over Obi-Wan. He could guess what Obi-Wan had to say, anyway. “2224,” and, oh, he liked the way just saying the numbers made Obi-Wan suck in a breath, something in his posture stiffening. “I need your assistance.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Obi-Wan said, pushing to his feet and swaying once he got there, and for a moment Vader just stared at him. There was something darkly amusing about Obi-Wan trying to step in front of 2224, trying to protect an empty vessel. Especially considering what Vader planned. “Anakin, leave him--”

“The prisoner is being disruptive. Pacify him.” Vader enjoyed the brief flash of despair across Obi-Wan’s expression, the swell of it through the Force. Obi-Wan turned, looking towards 2224, just in time to take a blow across the jaw. He made a sound, low and stunned, covered by the impact of a fist into his gut.

“Wait--” Obi-Wan panted, words cut off when 2224 kicked his knee out, sending him down. 2224 was moving jerkily. Hesitating before each blow. Malfunctioning again. “No, this isn’t--”

Vader watched and listened, respiration increasing, as Obi-Wan tried to curl away from the blows, as 2224 followed him down, pulling him around, blows landing over and over and still Obi-Wan made no move to beg, to listen to instruction, to--

Well. Vader had known he’d likely require… further convincing. He grimaced.

“2224, you’re programmed to recreate,” Vader said, the words tasting like ash. “Aren’t you? Under Order 312.” Sidious had insisted that such actions could assist with appropriately subduing an entrenched populace. Vader had seen it work, on Ryloth. He could remember the way the insurgents there had screamed. Cried. Wept--

2224 stopped, froze in place, one fist drawn back still, black glove wet with blood, hand shaking. It was a broken damn thing, unable to process a question and continue a simple task. Vader scowled. He’d have disposed of the model already, if merely seeing 2224’s ugly, scarred face didn’t make Obi-Wan’s emotions twist, every time.

“What’s Order 312?” Obi-Wan panted, voice thick with pain, but neither of them answered.

“Yes, Lord Vader,” 2224 said, after a long beat for processing, with less emotion than a droid, expression utterly and completely blank. Still, Vader could not help but notice that its index finger was twitching, jerkily, and for no apparent reason. There was a smear of blood, under its nose.

Defective.

Perhaps Vader would have to make Obi-Wan watch as it was decommissioned. Permanently.

The thought held no small measure of appeal. But it could wait. At least a little while. He knew, very well, how his old master had felt about 2224. Before. He worked his jaw, once, twice, and then said, “Execute Order 312 on the prisoner.”

“What’s--” Obi-Wan started again, words cutting off when 2224 grabbed him. “Cody?” he said, sounding confused, feeling lost in the Force. There was a sharp little thrill of hope through him, at every touch of 2224’s hands, and Vader felt his lips pull back from his teeth.

He’d put that hope out, every single spark of it. 

Obi-Wan jerked as 2224 gripped his shoulders, shoving him over onto his stomach. Vader watched Obi-Wan’s chin hit the floor, heard him make a sound, felt his spreading alarm. “No,” he panted, struggling in earnest, and Obi-Wan was strong, had always been strong, even without the Force, but… his arms were bound, he’d just been beaten, viciously.

And Vader was almost certain the troopers had always been stronger.

“Stop! Don’t--Cody!” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked, as 2224 put a hand on the side of his head and pressed down, its other hand pulling robotically at its armor. “Please,” Obi-Wan gasped, voice failing with another crack, and, oh, he was shaking, Vader noticed, shaking all over, his eyes gone white all the way around, breath sharp and choppy. “Cody, don’t!”

2224 hesitated. Froze into place. Vader scowled and snapped, “I gave you an order! Carry it out!” And Obi-Wan cried out, sharp, ragged, when 2224 pushed into him, without a word, without a single move towards kindness. Vader watched, stared, unwilling even to blink, waiting for Obi-Wan to give in. Waiting for him to break. Waiting--

He made an awful, guttural sound, when 2224 bottomed out, still pressing Obi-Wan’s face down, its other hand gripping at Obi-Wan’s hip, that index finger still tapping, endlessly, even as it set a fast, brutal pace. And Obi-Wan didn’t beg. Didn’t break. Instead, he gasped, “It’s not you. It’s not you -- it’s--this isn’t--”

“Is this what it was like?” Vader asked, making himself watch. How often had he wondered, over the course of the war? How many times had he imagined his high and mighty master, bent over and fucked, taken. It had irritated him, at the time, that Obi-Wan would let someone else touch him, that he’d spread his legs and beg, when he hadn’t wanted Anakin. It had left him hard and aching, back then.

It still did, he found, cock twitching beneath his suit as he watched and listened.

Obi-Wan had never handled himself properly. Never realized what was good for him. Vader snarled, listening to the sounds Obi-Wan made, gutted and soft. Wet. Refusing to answer.

“Have you missed this?” Vader demanded, taking a step forward, listening to 2224 pant like an animal, just rutting mindlessly into a warm body, still with no expression on its face, the white of its left eye staining red. Perhaps that was what it had always been like, Vader could imagine that. Vader spat, “I suppose 2224 deserves permission to have you like this whenever it likes, that’s what you let it have before, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth worked, soundlessly. Resisting, even still.

Vader went to one knee, watching, and snapped, “Answer me!”

Obi-Wan spat towards him, instead of saying anything, salvia pinkish with blood, splattering across his boot, expression twisted up as, behind him, 2224 made the smallest sound and stilled. Just… stopped moving, completely, the task finished.

“Go clean yourself up, Cody,” Vader ordered, eyes on Obi-Wan as 2224 pulled out of him, taking in the flash of pain across his expression. He collapsed sideways as 2224 rose, laying there, sprawled across the floor, exposed and bloody already, drawing his legs up, hunching around them.

Vader swallowed, harshly, and said, bile in his mouth, “Say my name.”

Obi-Wan laughed. It was a terrible, cracking sound. His eyes barely focused when he said, in a hoarse whisper, through a crooked smile, “Anakin Skywa--”

Vader activated the collar, for just a moment, white-hot rage moving through him, and gripped at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, shoving him flat onto the ground. He felt the way Obi-Wan jerked and jumped, beneath him, noticed the slickness of blood and spend, and -- and refused to hesitate.

Obi-Wan wasn’t moving, by the time he finished. Vader stood, feeling strangely shaky, split open inside, and looked down at the limp body. Obi-Wan was just… staring forward, breath shaky and hitching. Vader was sweating, heavily, under his suit. He could smell the stink of himself, and hated it, one more thing caused by Obi-Wan.

He stumbled back a step, but there was no one to see but the troopers. And they did not care. He said, turning away, “Take him away.” He added, as he heard them dragging Obi-Wan towards the doors, “To the med-droids. But tell all the troopers to enjoy themselves. After all, one of you is the same as all the rest.”

And, perhaps, that would be enough to teach Obi-Wan his place.

His mouth tasted of ash. He swallowed it down into his gut.

[awhitehead17]

Whumptober 2020: Day 11 - Psych 101

Prompt: Crying

Summary: When Tim finds his boyfriend crying and breaking down in the middle of the night, he immediately offers his comfort and support in whatever way he can. 

Enjoy! :D

Waking up in the middle of the night isn’t exactly an uncommon thing, it actually happens more often than not. At this point it’s just a normal thing. What usually wasn’t normal was the reason why he wakes up in the middle of the night.

Blinking his eyes open, Tim finds darkness surrounding him, he turns to his side to eye the digital clock on his bedside table. Tim groans when he sees it’s only just gone 4am. Closing his eyes, he turns onto his side and attempts to chase the remanence of sleep, as he does he flings his arm out to wrap it around the body next to him… only for it to flop against the mattress. 

That gets Tim opening his eyes up again, this time he’s feeling more awake. The other side of the mattress was empty, Tim runs a hand over the spot to find it relatively cold meaning his bed partner hasn’t been in bed for some time.

No longer interested in sleeping Tim climbs out of bed, puts on some sweatpants before leaving the bedroom in search for his boyfriend. He walks through the apartment, each room he looks in being a bust until he enters the living room. That's where he finds Kon, sitting on the couch with his shoulders hunched over and his face buried within his hands.

Tim stares at the sight for a moment. He was confused but mostly concerned, what was wrong with Kon? Why was he up at 4am on the couch and not in bed asleep?

Tim takes slow steps towards the couch, calling out to his boyfriend as he does. He doesn’t want to startle Kon. At the sound of his name Kon snaps his head up and looks directly at Tim with wide eyes, it’s then that Tim sees the tears streaming down Kon’s face, the way his eyes were red and swollen, he even hears the raspy way Kon was breathing.

Tim’s concern multiples. It wasn’t often that he sees Kon cry, it’s a rarity but when the meta does it usually means he’s worked himself to mental and emotional exhaustion.

Getting over the initial shock of seeing Tim, Kon jumps up to his feet and averts his gaze. “Uh it’s – it’s nothing Tim. Everything’s okay. Nothing to worry about at all.”

Kon’s voice was thick of emotion and Tim’s heart breaks at hearing it. It sounds like Kon’s trying to hold himself together even as he breaks apart. As he watches Kon, he could see the way the meta fiddles with the hem of his shirt, the rapid rising of his chest.

“Kon…”

“It’s fine! I’m fine!” Kon snaps at him and before Tim could react Kon spins around and starts heading for the living room’s door.

Just before he gets there, Tim lunges for his boyfriend and snags his wrist, stopping him from leaving. Kon could easily break out of the hold but he doesn’t, he simply allows Tim to hold his wrist, however he refuses to look at him.

Moving to intertwine their hands, Tim reaches up with his free one to cup Kon’s cheek, brushing his thumb under Kon’s eye and wiping away the water marks.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Tim asks gently. He doesn’t ask if he’s alright because he clearly isn’t. “Talk to me Kon. What’s eating you?”

Kon doesn’t immediately reply and he still hasn’t faced Tim. With a frown Tim watches as the meta swallows thickly, as he takes a deep breath to control his emotions and as he swipes at his eyes to remove any tears were threatening to fall.

Without anything being said, Tim could tell that Kon was at his breaking point. He feels awful because he hadn’t even realised Kon had gotten to this point, he should have seen the signs earlier, helped him somehow and stopped from this big blow out happening.

When Kon opens his mouth to speak no words come out. He takes another breath and tries again with the same result. Tim watches, heartbreakingly, as Kon shakes his head and clenches his eyes shut. A broken sound escapes his boyfriend and a fresh set of tears fall down his cheeks.

Tim doesn’t hesitate to gather Kon in his arms. He cups the back of Kon’s head and guides it so it’s resting against his neck and shoulder, while he wraps his other around Kon’s shoulders and strokes his back soothingly. In return, Kon wraps his arms around Tim tightly and clings onto him.

Broken sobs come from Kon as his whole body trembles with emotion. Tim closes his eyes tightly and clings onto him, feeling guilty that Kon’s having a break down like this, that he couldn’t do much else other than to hold him as Kon gets it all out of his system.

Time passes by but not once does Tim try to push Kon away. His boyfriend’s sobs had taken a while to calm down until he was just breathing heavily against Tim’s skin. Only once it seemed like Kon was calm enough that Tim finally moves.

He carefully creates space between them, keeping his hands on Kon to help steady him as they part, and watches his boyfriend. As Kon takes a step back he wipes his eyes and takes a couple long deep breaths and lets them out.

Tim reaches out and strokes a hand through Kon’s hair, “How are you feeling?”

As Kon finally looks at him, Tim could see his damp cheeks from his tears, his eyes were an angry red and overall he looked tired, exhausted even.

“Like I have bull rampaging inside a china shop within my head.” He replies to Tim with a tiny smile.

Tim smiles at the simile, it’s a sign that he's feeling a bit better. “I bet.” Tim comments lightly. “Crying would do that to you.”

Without waiting Tim reaches out and grabs Kon’s hand. He tugs Kon’s arm and gets the meta to follow him through the apartment until they reach the bedroom. When they get there, Tim pushes Kon down to sit on the bed and then goes to grab some headache tablets, a cup of water and a cold flannel from the ensuite. He presents these items to Kon who quietly takes them without any protest.

Tim settles beside him on the bed and bumps their thighs together. “Look, I get you’re exhausted right now but if you want to talk you’re more than welcome to. If you don’t want to, then that’s okay too.”

Kon wipes his face with the flannel and takes a sip of water with the tablets. He doesn’t look at Tim as he hums. “It’s just y’know…” he lets out a frustrated sigh and clenches the flannel in his hands. “It’s stupid.”

Tim changes his position so he's facing Kon. Placing a hand on the meta’s shoulder he firmly tells him. “No. It’s not. It’s not stupid Kon. Just talk to me, let me know what’s going on.”

Kon takes a long breath and shakes his head, “I can’t Tim. At least not right now. Maybe tomorrow though?”

Tim smiles supportively and nods, “Of course, whenever you’re ready. Now let’s get to bed yeah, it’s late and we’re both tired, it’ll probably help you to feel better in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for tonight Tim. Sorry about your shirt.”

Standing up Tim waves him off. “Don’t worry about it, it needed to go into the wash anyway.” He takes the shirt off and chucks it into the corner of the room. From where he was stood he bends over and places a kiss to Kon’s forehead. “I love you okay. You can talk to me, cry on me and whatever else when you need to.”

Kon hums, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah sure. Love you too.”

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Comfortember Day 1: We’re Here For You

Summary: Written for Comfortember Day 1. Takes place in the Httyd Zombie AU, follow-up to Whumptober Day 27's "I'll Be Right Here, Bud". After waiting and waiting, their friends finally come for them.

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Stormfly

Pairing: None

Words: 1 436

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Rescue”

Whumpee: Toothless

Author’s Notes: You would think that I would be done with the month-long prompts after completing Whumptober. APPARENTLY, I'm not quite done yet.

I don't know if I'll do the entire month, but it seemed like fun to do "whump" prompts that are more focussed on the comfort after the whump.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3 for Comfortember Day 1

Ao3 for Whumptober Day 27

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hiccup?! Toothless?!"

That's Astrid's voice that's calling out to him and his Bud, Hiccup lifts his head up from Toothless' and looks up to the night sky, the stars twinkling far above their heads. The remains of the sunset can still be seen in the far distance.

"We're down here!" Hiccup calls out to them and he can hear them running towards them.

Toothless' head is still on his lap. In the hours they've been waiting, neither of them has moved much. Hiccup's injured knee is bend beneath him and it has swollen that way, too.

"Hey, they're here! And they're alive!" Ruffnut happily announces and ten different faces appear where the front of the house should be and Hiccup is happy to see them, though he does have some questions.

So his smile melts just a tad, but only a tad. He's still happy to finally see them all.

"So mind telling me where you guys have been this whole time?" He asks. Considering how long it's been, he believes he has a right to know.

"I'm sorry, Hiccup, we got held up." Astrid apologizes, Stormfly chirps to back her up.

"We ran into some of those Hunters and then we all got caught in that earthquake!" Snotlout adds, wanting to be sure that Hiccup knows that it isn't their fault they got held up. They didn't just forget about their friends and then didn't worry about them the entire time it took them to get back to their leading duo.

"Okay! So can you guys come get us out? Toothless can't be moved before we get all of this off him first." Hiccup asks of them, gesturing to the wood and brick and dust covering his dragon, and they don't need to respond. Of course, they'll help them out.

Hiccup sees their faces disappear from view, without a doubt they're searching for a way down.

"And Fishlegs? Bring medical supplies!" Hiccup shouts up to him.

"Oh-okay!" Not the most reassuring thing you want to be asked, but not too surprising either considering their situation.

"Over there!" Astrid tells the Riders as she might've found a way into the basement and while they're on their way to them, Hiccup pets Toothless' head and shakes him lightly to rouse him out of his sleep.

"Hey Bud, wake up! They're here!" It doesn't take much as Toothless isn't sleeping that deeply. He can't with that wound in his wing.

Tiredly, Toothless wakes up and croons hopefully to his Rider, but doesn't lift his head from Hiccup's lap. Hiccup doesn't want him to either, he's lying just fine.

The knee that he dislocated earlier that day has probably swollen beyond use by now anyway, but that is of little concern to him.

The Riders reach them, climbing over and under the debris all around them.

"Wow, this earthquake wasn't nice to this neighborhood." Ruffnut remarks.

"Well, this neighborhood could've done with the occasional upkeep. The street, too." Hiccup says to her.

There have been a few aftershocks, too. When they happened, instead of leaving his Bud behind to get to infinitely safer ground, Hiccup had draped himself over his head and hoped for the best. Though this house that they're in is mostly ruined, there is still plenty of it left to fall.

Some smaller parts of it did, but not on them, fortunately.

"So what's the situation?" Astrid asks and kneels by the duo. Obviously, there's something wrong or they wouldn't still be sitting here in what looks like a basement.

She pets the Night Fury's head, too, and Toothless purrs appreciatively at the show of affection.

"His wing is hurt. Some wood broke off from somewhere and pierced his wing." Hiccup points it out. The bleeding has stopped a long while ago and the puddle that he had originally found hasn't grown much. The wood must be stopping it.

"Oh, that could be bad," Fishlegs states and stands there with all of their medical supplies. This place is quite cramped for someone his size. This place is quite cramped for everyone involved.

"So what do we do?" Tuffnut asks and they all look to Hiccup as maybe he already has an idea on how to handle this situation.

"We remove the debris lying on Toothless. Start from the top, that way we won't risk hurting him further. And someone hold that wood in his wing still, we can't risk moving that either. Fishlegs, keep an eye out for an opening to help. I'm going to stay here." He tells them swiftly. His part of the plan is not only to keep his dragon calm as he probably won't be getting up with that knee of his anyway. Not easily, at least. He might even be a detriment to Toothless' health if he tries to help out.

But the Riders agree with the plan and they get to it. Excluding Hiccup and Fishlegs, they still have a total of four pairs of hands to help all of that junk off Toothless.

They get to work and Hiccup looks down on his Bud, petting the top of his head with a smile.

"It's going to be okay soon, Toothless. We're here for you. We're going to get you out of here and fix that wing. Everything's going to be okay." Hiccup leans down and hugs the dragon's head, who lifts it and purrs knowingly.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took some doing to get Toothless out of that basement. First to get all that rubble off him without disturbing the object impaling him, then removing that object itself, and then they had to take care of that tear in his wing. And as wings tend to bleed profusely, it had to be done quickly.

After all of that was taken care of, Stormfly had to lift him out of there before they could search for a campsite to settle down in for the night.

And in the meantime, the Dragon Riders found out about Hiccup's once dislocated knee and that means they have two injured friends in their group.

But they found a nice place to stay in the form of a hotel with a lot of nice and big beds to rest in, certainly big enough for a Night Fury. Though this injury isn't nearly enough to stop him for long, flying won't be such a good idea for at least the next week or so. The good news is that dragons are fast healers.

The rest for tonight and tomorrow, it's merely to recover from the events of the day.

The doors of the hotel are big enough for a dragon Toothless' size to just fit through and he and Hiccup take one on the second floor. The Riders each have their own room on one of the upper floors, close to the Dragons, which have settled on the roof.

"Here it is, Bud! Our very own suite!" Hiccup tells his Bud, limping into the room with a crutch to aid him. He always has at least one with them ever since the loss of his leg. With his chronic pain, it's handy to have one with him for his bad days.

Toothless comes in with a rumble and looks around the room. It quickly becomes clear that he has little interest in anything present and swiftly climbs onto the bed. It's a miracle it can even hold him.

Hiccup lets out a chuckle and watches Toothless get comfortable, the frame creaking horribly all the way.

"Don't break it, Bud." He tells him, Toothless rumbling indignantly, but in a teasing manner.

He settles, bed groaning beneath him as he does, and Hiccup lets out a laugh when Toothless pats on a spot next to him with a paw.

Placing the crutch down on the ground by the bed, Hiccup gets on it and removes his shoes, deciding to leave his prosthetic on. It doesn't feel too pleasant on his knee to crawl up on the mattress to reach his dragon, but Hiccup manages and looks at his Bud.

"We made it. At least for today." He tells him with a smile, Toothless croons in agreement.

"I told you we would be there for you, didn't I?" Hiccup asks and pats him on the nose, which coaxes Toothless into laying his head on the human's uninjured knee. His smile widening, Hiccup pets him.

It's well past midnight by now and all they have for light is the moon, but there is still plenty of hours to go before the sun rises again. Until then, Toothless can rest and so can he.

[yusuke-of-valla]

like rats fleeing a sinking ship, pt. 5

Whumptober Day 7: I’ve got you

Prompt “Support”

<-Previous Next->

AO3

~

Makoto turns over and stares at the cream colored wall, and tries not to think about the police radio tucked into Sae’s bag on the other side of her bed. 

They’d been using it to stay one step ahead of the police ever since the arrest went out, but according to Sae they’re safe enough that Makoto doesn’t have to be constantly listening to it. Of course, the real reason Sae has confiscated it is because Makoto’s been listening to it obsessively for any news of her friends.

“I can hear you thinking.” Sae says.

Makoto sighs and sits up. “I’m just-”

“-worried, I know. I understand how you feel. But, you have to drop it. There’s nothing you can do.”

“What?”

“You tried, and you failed. I have no doubt if you’re arrested Shido will have you killed. The best you can do right now is keep yourself safe.”

“I know that, but they’re my friends, Sae. I don’t like not knowing about what’s going on.”

“The radio’s not going to help with that. I mean it’s been what, four days? And you’ve only heard about Kitagawa and the Sakuras, and what good has that done you?”

Makoto’s head shoots up, her stomach churning with fear and hope. “Has anything come up about them?”

Sae’s face scrunches in concern. “No.”

The announcement about Yusuke had come on while they were getting out of the city, and Sae practically had to put Makoto in a headlock to keep her from turning the car around to try and help him. Then, Sae had left to get ice when an announcement over the radio said that they’d arrested Sojiro and Futaba was missing came, and she’d come back to Makoto screaming at it, in tears. 

That was when Sae had confiscated the radio and refused to leave Makoto alone for even a second.

“That means they haven’t been captured.” Sae says.

Makoto stares at her hands, tracing her thumb along the lines of her palm. Sae sits down in the bed next to her. “I’m sorry, Makoto.”

“If you really understood how I felt, you’d let me go back to Tokyo.”

“Not this again-”

“They need me!”

“They’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that! Neither of us know that!”

“What can you do?”

“I can heal them! I can devise strategies if we’re working with fewer people, I can get to different places quickly with Anat, I can help them take down Shido and we can fix this!”

“Or you could die! It could be you locked in a deep dark interrogation room and getting beaten to a pulp.”

“Not if you helped me! Are we our father’s daughters or not?”

“Our father got himself killed and left us to pick up the pieces!” Sae snaps, and Makoto realizes there’s a tear streaking down her cheek, and Makoto’s retort dies in her throat.

“Sis…”

“I’m supposed to look out for you, and I know I haven’t been doing a good job of that recently, but I can’t lose you too, Makoto.”

Makoto racks her brain to find the right words. 

“You’re more likely to lose me if we’re being hunted the rest of our lives.”

“Shido wouldn’t bother with that.”

“As long as there are people who can access the Metaverse, we’re a threat to him. All it takes is a change of heart and everything he’s worked towards is undone. He won’t stop.”

Sae wipes her face and takes a deep breath. Makoto resists the urge to smile. She’s considering it.

“Are you sure that if you find your friends you’ll be able to successfully change Shido’s heart?” Sae asks.

“I know it.”

Sae gets up and walks to her own bed. “Ask me in the morning.” She flips off the light switch and leaves the two of them in the dark.

Makoto lies back down, closes her eyes, and counts her breaths until she falls asleep. 

She feels the sunlight start to peak through the window, and when Makoto wakes up the next morning, Sae’s already up and dressed.

“Well?” Makoto asks.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Sis-”

“Fine, I’ll help you get back into Tokyo.” 

Makoto grins.

“But only because I know if you say no you’ll do something reckless and go off on your own. At least this way I can make sure you’re prepared.”

Makoto nods and throws off the covers. “So I’ve already got an idea.”

“Me too.”

“It’s probably safer for me to get into the city on foot or on a bike-”

“But with the checkpoints, you’ll need some sort of distraction, or you’ll be caught immediately.”

The sisters share a look, and Makoto smiles, “I think we’ve got a plan.”

They spend the rest of the day finalizing the plan. Then the next morning, they check out of their room, and find a place where they can rent a motorcycle.

Sae meets Makoto back at their car with the bike. Old, and sputtering, but it’ll do the job.

“Are you ready?” Sae asks.

“Yeah. You?”

“Of course. Just stay safe, please.”

Makoto gives Sae a hug. “I will. Promise me you will too.”

Sae smirks. “Don’t underestimate me.” She hands Makoto the radio, her phone, and the keys to the bike, as well as some cash.

“I expect to hear about that calling card on the news.”

“Oh, you will.”

Sae drives off, and Makoto follows her about twenty minutes later. The sun is setting when the city starts to come into view, and it’s dark out when Makoto pulls over to the side of the expressway. She turns on the radio and waits until the officer at the checkpoint ahead of them announces Sae’s car has pulled through.

Then, Makoto pulls out Sae’s phone.

“H-hello? Is this who I’m supposed to call if I know about those Phantom Thieves?”

“Yes,” a woman’s voice says on the other end of the line. “Do you have any information for us?”

“Well I saw one of them, the Niijima girl heading into the city.” She describes Sae’s car heading towards the checkpoint ahead of her, and soon enough the officer on the radio curses and Makoto can hear sirens.

Makoto turns off Sae’s phone, and pulls the bike helmet over her face. When she arrives at the checkpoint, there are no officers, and Makoto is let through quickly by the toll worker. She pulls off in a different direction than the one she knows Sae went, and she rides on for a good while.

Makoto’s plan is to head to Yogen-jaya, but instead she stops when she sees a familiar face.

“Mishima!” Makoto calls as she pulls over. Mishima looks up and spots her, eyes widening.

“Niijima! You’re here? Is everything alright?”

Makoto nods. “Yeah, I was just wondering if you knew anything about the others.”

“Nah. I haven’t seen Kurusu yet. Honestly I’ve been avoiding him ever since the cops came to school asking questions about the PhanSite.”

Makoto sighs. So much for this being easier than she thought. “Alright, thanks.” 

She’s about to drive off when Mishima jumps in front of her bike. “Wait! I-it’s late! It’s probably ore suspicious for you to be driving around, do you need a place to stay for the night?”

Makoto blinks at him. “Wait, really?”

Mishima rubs the back of his neck. “Well, yeah! My parents work late and won’t notice and I really wanna help you guys, and this seems better than just, I don’t know, deleting mean comments on the PhanSite.”

“Wow. Thanks Mishima.”

Mishima waves her off. “No problem! I should be thanking you, you guys do so much for everyone.”

“Well, you’re a lot of help too.” Makoto says. “I mean we wouldn’t even know where to start without you, sometimes.”

Mishima looks at his feet. “Thanks. Um, anyway, can I get a ride? I’ll tell you where I live and then tomorrow we can see about talking to Kurusu.”

“Sure.”

Mishima hops on the back of the bike, and points Makoto towards his home. They’re cut short, however when they pass by a TV display blaring an urgent news update.

A harried reporter sits at her desk, reading off a report. “-was arrested this evening. Niijima and Sojiro Sakura, who was also arrested for aiding the Phantom Thieves, will stand trial in five days, the night before the election.”

[faofinn]

I’ve Got You - Whumptober Day 7

@whumptober2020

Harrison's paperwork had taken longer than expected, getting dragged back in to see another patient before he could leave. By the time he did, he was exhausted, practically dead on his feet. 

He leant against the lockers as he changed, half falling asleep as he tried not to fall over. His jumper was tugged on haphazardly, his bag thrown over his shoulder and he finally left.

He sat in the car a little too long, head resting against the steering wheel and replaying the events over and over. 

With a heavy groan, he finally started the car, shaking his head to clear it. The route to the pub was like driving on autopilot, there within minutes. His usual space was free, rarely not occupied by his car, and he swerved in with a happy sigh. He'd be sorted soon enough. 

Fao ended up staying until after 10 that night, ending up in theatre with a case before the on call surgeon arrived. He was thankfully successful with that patient, and left feeling a little lighter. 

Once changed and ready to head home, he messaged his brother to say he was checking on Harrison, and not to wait to for him. He’d not seen Finn all day, he had no idea if he’d finished work yet, or if he’d even be at home. He might well be staying with Jess. 

Fao knew Harrison’s local haunt, and checking on him now seemed like second nature. He knew Hars had an issue with alcohol, but often if he showed up and chatted to him a bit, he’d at least be able to drop him home before he’d had too much. Plus he fancied a drink himself, and one wouldn’t be the end of the world. It would be nice to toast the patients he’d lost. 

He found Harrison inside, and ordered a drink before he sat down next to his friend. 

“Rough day, huh?”

He raised his head slowly. “Mm.”

Fao sipped his drink. “Doing okay?”

"Yeah." It wasn't exactly a lie. Harrison wasn't the one having trouble staying in focus.

“Good. Bloody on call took ages, I’ve only just got out.”

Harrison nodded - a bad idea in itself - and took another sip. "Yeah."

“Been here long?”

"No, not really."

“You get out late too?”

"Yeah. I'm going for a piss, mate." He stood with a groan. "Not doing this babysitting."

“I came for a drink, that’s it.” He said, watching him stand. 

"Bullshit." He slurred, eyes rolling as he collapsed. 

“Oh, fucking hell.” Fao muttered, standing quickly to grab him before he hit the floor. 

Harrison was considerably bigger than Fao, and weighed a lot more too. He was completely limp in Fao's arms and only barely missed hitting the floor like a sack of shit.

Fao only managed to stay upright by leaning against the wall behind them, sinking to the ground with Harrison. He managed to get him propped up, ignoring the concerned customers. 

With the world slowly starting to return, Harrison groaned. The groan trailed off into a retch, Harrison trying to shove himself upright properly.

“Hey, hey, take it easy. I don’t think I can catch you a second time.” Fao said gently.

"Piss off."

“Come on, don’t be like that.” Fao said. “Take it easy, I’ll help you up in a minute.”

"I'm fine. I just need a piss."

“Yeah alright, give me a minute and I’ll help you up.”

"I don't need your help."

“Sure.”

He struggled upright, trying to get his leg under him. "You're pissing me off."

“I just stopped you smacking your head on the floor. Next time I’ll just watch you collapse. Come on, Harrison. Be sensible.”

"I didn't ask you to be here, did I?" He snapped, staggering about. "Fucking snitchin' on me."

“Sit down, mate. Be sensible.” Fao said, reaching out to take his arm. 

He flinched backwards, knocking into the table beside theirs. They weren’t impressed, but Harrison didn't care, no apologies or a second glance.

Fao apologised, muttering at Harrison. “Come on, let me help you to the bathroom?”

"No, I'm going home."

“You said you wanted the bathroom, let’s go.”

"Why? I'm not going anywhere. I just need a drink, Fao. That'll fix it."

“How many have you had, Hars?” Fao asked gently. “Be careful, yeah? Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

"One...two. Not many. I'm workin' tomorrow."

Fao frowned. “You only had two? Promise me?”

"You're accusing me?"

“No, no. I know you’re always honest. You’ve had two, yeah?”

He glanced back at his seat. "Two."

“Alright, let’s get you out into the fresh air, yeah?”

"I don't feel good, Fao."

“Yeah, fresh air then. You'll be alright, I've got you.”

He shook his head. "I'm really dizzy again."

“Alright, sit down?” Fao said gently.

"I just want to go home, Fao." He clumsily reached for Fao. "Please."

“Alright, okay. I'll get you home, you think you can make it to the door?”

"I'll have to call a taxi."

“I'll drive, it's alright.” Fao said, helping him out the door. 

Harrison gripped him tighter. "Fao?"

“You're alright, I've got you.” He said, leading him over to sit down on the curb. “Out in the fresh air now, you're okay.”

After a moment, he leant into Fao with a shaky sigh. None of it was normal and he felt rotten. He just wanted it all to stop, putting on a brave face while he was terrified underneath. 

Fao put an arm around him. “You're okay, deep breaths.” He soothed. “Someone buy you a drink tonight?”

"No." He shook his head before promptly throwing up on his shoes. "Maybe? I can't remember."

“Alright, alright. Feeling pretty rough, huh? Maybe we should get you to A&E.”

"I only had two."

“Think you might have been spiked, mate. I know what you're like after two, and this isn't it.”

"Wasn't spiked."

“You sure? Because this isn't just you drunk, hmm? Two’s barely enough to get even me drunk.”

Harrison hummed, resting his head on Fao's shoulder. "Maybe, sure."

“Calling me a lightweight?” Fao teased. “Are you sure you don't remember someone buying you a drink?”

"We always buy each other a round."

“Someone you know?”

He made a soft noise. "Yeah."

“Mm, alright. You be alright if we go to hospital?”

"Just bed."

“Hospital, then bed. Just in case you've had something bad, check you over?”

"I don't want to. I'm a doctor."

“So am I. And I think you should probably be looked at.”

"You'll stay?" Fear flickered across his face. "You won't leave me?"

“Of course I'll stay, what sort of friend would I be if I didn't?”

"The sort I'm used to."

“I've got you. Promise I'm not going anywhere.”

"You got me."

“Yeah, of course I have. Still feel sick?”

"Covered in it."

“Think I've got some trackies in my bag, you want to change?”

"We're in the carpark."

“It's dark, it'll be alright.”

"No."

“Sure?”

Harrison nodded. "We'll just go home."

“Hospital, then home.” 

"Home then home."

“I'll call an ambulance…” He threatened. 

"You wouldn't."

“Would.” 

"I've got capacity."

“Sure.” 

He retched. "Watch me."

“Watch you what? Vomit?”

Harrison glanced at Fao, looking him up and down. "Why'd you do that?"

“Do what? I'm just sat here.”

"Oh. Okay."

Fao was going to say something when the door opened and someone stepped out towards the pair. “Harrison, baby, are you okay?”

"Hey." A dopey smile made its way onto Harrison's face. "I don't feel good."

Fao frowned at the newcomer. “Sorry, who are you?”

"We buy rounds." Harrison told him, trying to stand. "It's okay."

“Ah, ah, sit.” Fao said, but stood up himself. “You bought him a drink tonight?”

The other man folded his arms. "I do every time. He returns the favour, he started it, actually."

Fao's hands clenched into fists at his side. “I don't care who started it, leave him alone.”

"I'm sorry, but who the fuck are you? Harrison, come on. Let's go, get away from him."

“I'm… a friend.” He said sharply. “And he's not going anywhere with you.”

He ignored Fao. "Harrison, babes, come on. We don't want to be too long."

Fao stepped in front of the other man. “I said leave him alone.”

"Fuck off, he's coming back to mine. We always do this. He's an adult."

“Fucking back off.” Fao snapped. “He's not going back to yours. Another step and you'll regret it.”

"You've got no say in this at all." He leant around to Harrison. "Come on, let's get out of here."

“What did I just say?” Fao spat, shoving him. “Back the fuck up.”

"Who the fuck do you think you are anyway? He's never mentioned you before. You can't just take him for yourself."

“I'm a mate, what does it matter if he's not mentioned me? Back up or I'll back you up myself.”

"Easy, pal. He always comes back with me, I'll look after him good and proper. He obviously just had a bit too much to drink again."

“You're not taking him anywhere. Back. Up.”

“Harrison, come on. Lets go. You know me, know we have a good time, right?”

Fao stepped closer, once again putting himself between Harrison and his ‘friend’. “Leave him the fuck alone!”

“You’re making a fucking mistake, pal. You don’t know him like I do.” He held his hand out. “Harrison, come on. I’m not waiting all night for you.”

He looked up, frowning between the pair. “No hospital?”

“No, babes. No hospital, just us, yeah? Come on.”

“Don't know him like you do? No, I'm sure I probably know him better.” Fao snapped. All the nights sat with him, the tears, the anger, the breakdowns… From both of them. Fao owed it to Harrison to stop him going with this creep who'd obviously spiked him. Fao snapped and lashed out, dragging the other man back from Harrison and swinging a punch right at him. 

He stumbled back, swearing as he swung for Fao in return. “What the fuck? I’m just trying to look after him.”

“You're trying to drag him home to fuck him. But he's obviously been spiked and I'm not letting you anywhere near him. Fuck off?” Fao said, groaning as the hit landed. 

“He’s not been spiked, come off it. He’s just had too much to drink, he always does.” He spat at Fao. “He’s always like this, he’ll be fine once he’s had his time with me.”

“If you knew him at all you'd know he's not just drunk.” Fao said, and swung another punch, hard. “Leave him alone or I'll call the police.”

"And if you knew him, you'd know he likes it like that."

“So drugged he's got no clue what's going on? Sure. Probably makes up for a lack of talent on your behalf.” Fao joked. “Get fucked.”

"It's not fucking worth this. Do what you want to him, I'm done." 

“Good. Get lost.”

“He’s not even that good of a fuck.” 

“Whatever. Fuck off.” He growled. “I’m sick of the sight of you.”

“Fuck you. And fuck you, Harrison. You’re a cunt.”

“Only cunt I’m seeing here is you.” Fao said, and shoved him. “Get lost.”

With another muttered “fuck you”, he headed back inside, leaving Harrison alone with Fao.

 Fao sat down next to Harrison, breathless. “Hey. Sorry, he’s gone now.”

“You’re hurt?”

“No, I'm fine.”

Harrison frowned, reaching a hand towards the bruise forming. “You are.”

“Oh.” Fao said, glancing down. “It's not a big deal, doesn't even hurt.”

“I could make it better for you.”

He smiled. “I'm sure you could. But it's okay, I'll ice it when we get home.”

“No, it’s okay. Watch.” 

“It’s alright, yeah? Come on, let’s get you in the car.”

Harrison made a quiet noise, trying to push himself onto Fao, hands wandering.

“Hey, hey, enough of that yeah?” He said, and easily escaped his grasp to stand up. “Here, let’s get you stood.”

“Oh. This. Okay.” Harrison frowned as he complied, reaching for Fao’s waistband.

“Come on, the car’s not far.” Fao said, and looped his arm around Harrison’s waist.

“In the car then.” Harrison nodded, leaning into Fao. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright. You leave anything inside?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Think you’ve probably got everything.” Fao said. “I’ll check tomorrow when I get your car.”

"It's fine. I can drive."

Fao laughed. “Yeah, no way.”

"No? Okay." He hung his head. "Okay."

“Much safer if I drive, yeah? Quick trip to hospital, take some bloods and run some fluids, make sure you're alright and then home to bed.”

"I am alright."

“Just gonna make sure, yeah? Who knows what that slimy cunt gave you.”

"He wouldn't give me anything."

“I wouldn't be so sure.”

"He's nice. You were a bit mean to him."

“He was wanting to take you home, I don't trust him.”

"He's okay."

“Let's wait and see, hmm?” Fao said, as they neared the car. 

"Jus' makes it easier. And he smells good too." Harrison gave him a dopey smile. "But you smell better."

“Do I?”

He nodded. "Yeah. 's nice."

“I probably smell like work.”

"I don't know." He smiled at Fao again, sighing. "It's still nice."

“At least you think so. Ready to get in the car?”

"Fancy car."

“Yeah, fancy car.”

Harrison slid in the passenger seat, leaning against the doorframe. "Done."

“Good job.” Fao told him. 

"Am I doing you now?"

Fao laughed. “No, we're gonna get you to A&E.”

"Strange place for it."

Fao shook his head fondly. “We're not doing anything.”

"I don't mind, honest." He reached for Fao again. "I can help."

“I know, I know. Not today, hmm?”

"I can though. Payment or something."

“I don't need payment, I'm your mate.”

"Just a mate?" He gave a sly smile, interrupted by a retch. "You're Finn's brother."

“Well, that too. Are you gonna puke?”

“Me? No.”

“Sure? Why don’t you grab something just in case?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Grab something anyway?”

"Me?"

“Yeah. Glovebox in front of you, there’s a sick bowl.”

He nodded, leaning forward to reach it. His stomach churned as he grabbed the bowl, but it was too little, too late. 

Fao winced, praying for his interior. “We’re nearly there. Should have given that to you before we started driving.”

Harrison gave him a sheepish look in between waves. "Sorry."

“It’s alright.” Fao said with a sigh. 

"You're mad." 

“Nah, I’m not. Shit happens.”

"I guess." Harrison gave a slight shrug, his hands fidgeting against the bowl. "I didn't mean it."

“I know. That’s why I’m not mad.”

"But I did it."

“It’s okay.” He reassured. 

Harrison whined quietly. It wasn't his fault he felt like shit, and Fao was obviously mad at him. He hadn't meant to throw up all over the car and make a mess, hadn't meant to do any of it. 

He'd blame it on Fao's driving if he could, but the truth was he'd been dizzy even inside the pub. He rested his head against the glass again, his eyes drifting shut.

“Hars? Can you stay awake for me?”

He groaned. "'m awake."

“Keep talking to me?”

"Why?"

“So I know you’re awake.”

He didn't reply, managing half a grunt before slipping. 

“Harrison? Come on, don’t do this.” Fao whined, glancing over at him. 

There was no response, his head falling forward. It took a moment for him to come back to himself, groaning as he propped himself back up against the window. After a slight incomprehensible grunt, he fell unconscious again.

Fao reached over to shake Harrison’s shoulder. They were close to the hospital and he didn’t want to have to pull over, but he couldn’t really leave him if he was unconscious. 

“Harrison? Can you hear me?”

Harrison was gone, pressed against the door. The bowl fell from his lap as Fao shook him, spilling its contents on the floor.

Fao couldn’t even find it in himself to be upset at the mess, too bothered by Harrison’s unresponsiveness. He was still breathing at least, he could hear that, and so he put his foot down and sped to the hospital. 

He parked carelessly near the doors and leapt out, struggling to get Harrison out of the car. He was bloody heavy, but he had no other choice, and he looked around in search of a colleague to help him out. 

At the sudden movement, Harrison whined, a frown settling on his face. He struggled a little in Fao's arms, finally managing a soft and desperate "no" as he slipped under again.

[daringyounggrayson]

too lost and hurting to carry my load

Whumptober Prompt 3: Delirium 

(AO3)

There’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking him into consciousness. “Dick?”

Dick lifts his head off of the floor and blinks himself awake only to find Bruce crouched down next to him, eyebrows pinched in concern. “I fell asleep?”

“Yes.”

He rubs at his eye and sits up, keeping the blanket pulled tight around his shoulders. “What time is it?” The fire is still going and a few pages of his textbook are crinkled where his face had used them as an impromptu pillow. At least there’s no drool on it.

“Eight.”

Dick angles his mouth into his elbow and gives a few rough coughs, causing pain to spread through his chest. When he looks back up, Bruce is frowning.

“Are you going to be up for patrol tonight?”

No. He wants to go back to sleep, preferably under fifty or so blankets. “I think I’ll sit this one out if you think you can make it without me for one night.” Dick flashes a smile and starts picking up his study materials. “Besides, I have that History test on Friday; I should probably get some more studying in.”

“Hnn.” Bruce presses the back of his hand to Dick’s forehead. Dick sighs theatrically at him but doesn’t move. “Have you taken anything?”

“No.”

“You have a fever.”

“I know.” He hadn’t, actually. He knew he was sick—had been for the past few days. It had been pretty mild up until today when he woke up freezing, exhausted, and trapped in molasses. A fever, as it turns out, was the cause.

Dick stacks all of his stuff together and stands, ignoring the rush of dizziness the action sends to his head. Bruce follows suit, watching him suspiciously.

“Medicine, then bed,” Bruce decides. He reaches for Dick’s shoulder to guide him out of the living room, but Dick shrugs it off.

“I can do it myself. I’m not a kid,” Dick huffs, all too aware that the blanket cape isn’t helping his case in the slightest. Nevertheless, Dick makes his way out of the living room before Bruce can grab him again and force meds down his throat or, worse, get Alfred involved.

“I’ll check on you when I get back. You would be wise to be asleep before then.”

Dick rolls his eyes, calls, “Whatever you say, Brucester,” and continues up the stairs to his room. He kicks the door closed and drops his stuff on the desk, not caring at all when one of the pencils rolls off the pile and onto the floor. He climbs into bed without changing his clothes or removing his blanket cape. He falls asleep in seconds.

oOo

When Bruce gets back from patrol, he’s poking Dick awake and forcing a thermometer into his mouth.

“101.9,” Bruce says when it beeps.

“Does that mean I can stay home tomorrow?” Dick asks, voice half gone. He knows that even without a fever on his side, Bruce would let him stay home if he asked. Partly because Bruce has a surprisingly hard time saying no to Dick about these things (Alfred says it’s because “Master Bruce had a rather difficult time with school-related activities while he was young.”), and partly because Dick so rarely blatantly asks to stay home.

“Hn. We might have to call Leslie if this gets much higher,” Bruce tells him.

Dick rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, B. I just need some Tylenol or whatever.”

“Which I believe I told you to take before you went to sleep.”

Dick just glares at him and Bruce sighs.

“Change. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Bruce leaves and Dick changes into pajamas, forcing himself to stay upright until Bruce finally returns with water and pills. After he swallows them, Bruce tucks him back in and turns off the alarm on his nightstand.

“I have a meeting at eleven,” Bruce starts, “but I can be home for the rest of the day.”

“I’ll be fine.” Dick’s eyes are already closed. “Probably just sleep all day.”

And he does. Alfred wakes him up to eat and then he sleeps some more, although he moves from his bed to the couch during the day. He watches a mix of reality TV and cartoons from at least ten years ago and curls up in a spot Alfred thinks it too close to the fire. He rapidly starts feeling worse and the fever gets higher, and Dick swears the medicine has stopped working altogether. But mostly, he tries to sleep.

oOo

Dick’s head shoots up in alarm when he hears the door creak open. He had nearly fallen asleep again (maybe he had) and now he’s lost his place. It doesn’t matter, though; none of it is sticking anyway.

Bruce steps into the room and Dick goes back to scowling at his notes, something he’d been doing for the past forty minutes after waking up in a panic—remnants from another intangible nightmare that screamed failure failure failure—and remembering all about the test he hadn’t studied for since Bruce sent him to bed several nights ago. But he had time; he could still get a few hours of cramming in, ace the test, and then pass out for the rest of the weekend. He had a plan. Bruce trained him to always have a plan.

“Kiddo, you should be in bed. It’s nearly four in the morning.” Bruce sounds tired, but something tells Dick that the tiredness isn’t from the patrol he just got back from. He crosses the doorway to lean over him. “What are you working on?”

“Studying,” Dick replies. “I have a test.”

“I really doubt you’ll be able to go to school tomorrow,” Bruce tells him gently.

Dick snaps his head up to look at him. “But I need to,” he explains earnestly. “If my grades slip, you’re gonna bench me. That’s the rule.” It’s always been the rule, and Dick’s grades have never slipped. Never.

Bruce takes the pencil from him. “I think we can make an exception, all things considered.”

Dick just frowns and shakes his head. “But I have a test, I can’t miss it, I can’t.” Bruce is always looking for a reason to bench him, and he knows what it’s all been building up to, too: firing him (getting rid of him). He can’t let that happen, he won’t. Not over a stupid test he knows he can pass.

“Enough,” Bruce says. It’s something he says when he’s finished with Dick and whatever Dick has brought up, but he doesn’t sound harsh. It's still that weird sympathetic, gentle tone, like he doesn’t think Dick can handle a simple argument at this point (weak, worthless).

“No, no, no," Dick pleads, sweaty hands in his hair. "I can do it. I can keep up—I promise! Please, just let me show you. Please." I'm good enough, let me be good enough.

Bruce's face falls. "Sweetheart, of course you’re good enough. You’re perfect.” Dick swallows, realizing he must have said that last part out loud. “This has nothing to do with that."

"Then what is it? Why are you trying to fire me?" It’s panic. That’s what this feeling is, heart racing and chest tight.

"I—" Bruce stammers for a second. His face shifts—Enough—and Dick knows the discussion is over. He won’t talk about it; he’ll never tell Dick where he messed up, and then he can mark that as another one of Dick’s failures. "I think the fever is making you delirious. Let’s get you back to sleep, huh? Maybe another dose of medicine."

Dick doesn’t know what to do. He settles for clenching his jaw and staring into the middle distance. He feels dizzy and sick and he wants it to be over. He can’t think like this, he can’t breathe. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t—

Bruce pulls him against his chest then, shirt soaking up Dick’s hot tears. “I’m not going to fire you, understand? But I can’t let you go out as Robin unless you prove to me that you are capable of taking care of yourself. Right now, that means resting and recovering. Robin needs to be at his best to watch Batman’s back, right?”

Dick presses his forehead into Bruce’s shoulder and coughs and coughs and coughs, each one sending a shard of glass into his lungs. “Bruce,” he whines when it eases up. Bruce rubs his hand up and down his spine, hushing him and grounding him to the here and now. “Don’t feel good.”

“I know, chum." He presses a hand against Dick's forehead and then again on his cheek. "Christ, you're burning up. Let’s have Alfred come up here and check you out, yeah?”

“Okay, okay.”

oOo

Alfred examines Dick while Bruce sits close to him on the bed. They’re talking like Dick isn’t even there, but he can’t bring himself to care. He wants to be taken care of right now.

The high fever (104.8) and the low pulse ox reading (92%) make Bruce worry and he brings up hospitals, but Alfred reasons that, “There’s nothing they will do that we can’t do here, and making Master Dick sit in an emergency room for hours will only make him more uncomfortable than he already is.” Normally, Dick might be relieved to hear that, but he doesn’t really care what happens to him as long as someone is doing something to fix it.

After listening to his lungs, Alfred finally diagnoses it as pneumonia. Bacterial, most likely, but they’re going to run a sputum culture to be sure and start him on antibiotics in the meantime. Alfred grabs some from the cave’s medical stash along with an icepack to try to get the fever down.

He falls asleep with Bruce and Alfred by his side. The fever is still high and they don’t want to leave him alone in case his pulse ox drops lower and he ends up needing oxygen. Later, Dick will recognize these as the excuses they are, but for now, he’s afraid to be left alone too.

He spends most of the next few days lying on the couch in front of a fireplace, head in Bruce’s lap and Alfred close by. They give him medicine and pet his hair and promise that he’ll feel better soon. Dick knows they’re right, he does—Bruce hasn’t brought up hospitals since that night and Alfred has stopped forcing icepacks on him; the coughing is even starting to ease up ever so slightly—but he’s completely consumed by how shitty he’s still feeling, and part of him worries that he’s never going to get better. Not completely, anyway.

Bruce’s fingers tangle in his hair again and Dick hums in contentment. “Try to get some more sleep, chum.”

“Okay.” Dick closes his eyes and tries to ignore his fever-induced fears. “Okay.”

[theundercovermarvelfan]

(Trying to get back in to writing by catching up with the Whumptober Challengefor @whumptober2019!)

*Sorry, felt a little so-so about this prompt, probably should have gone with an alternative. I promise tomorrow will be better!*

Day Thirteen - Adrenaline 

Every SHIELD safehouse was set up basically the same. It was always one big room -- except for the bathroom for obvious reasons. The majority of the space was dedicated to mission prep, with high tech weaponry, high powered computers, and an extensive first aid kid. 

The living section of the safehouses always usually like afterthoughts. There was always a little kitchen set up, but half the time there wasn’t even an oven or burners to use, making them reliant on microwave meals. On the same side as the small kitchen area there were always a couple cots shoved into a corner.

Tactically, it was ideal to have the big, open room. In the event that the safehouse was compromised, there was easy access to any of the escape points from anywhere in the room. However, in practice, the set up could cause significant tension between agents who were forced to live in excessively close quarters for the duration of a mission that could last anywhere from days to weeks. There were countless horror stories about agents at each others’ throats over trivial things such as sleeping patterns or eating habits. 

Thankfully, for the most part Clint and Phil worked and lived mostly conciliatingly while on long, drawn out missions. Mostly, being the key word. They certainly weren’t immune to normal disagreements that came with living in such close quarters under tense circumstances. And there was one issue in particular that usually caused tension between them. 

Phil and Clint had very different sleeping patterns while on assignment. Admittedly, it was because they had very different responsibilities while they were on mission. In the days leading up to a hit, Phil didn’t sleep much. He was up late into the nights doing research and organizing data and making damn sure that they were damn prepared with contingency plans on top of contingency plans. There was never an issue with this, since Clint slept like a rock on those nights, completely dead to the world. 

It was the night right before a hit when they struggled time and time again. At that point, Phil generally accepted that they were as prepared as they could be and that the best thing would be to get a good night’s sleep in order to be sharp for carrying out the mission. And it was also at that point that Clint apparently decided that he had enough sleep and was generally up most of the night. Not just up… but moving around the safehouse with restless energy. And Phil wasn’t nearly the heavy sleeper that Clint was. 

“Seriously?” Phil mumbled through the fog of sleep as yet another noise pulled him further away from unconsciousness. He squinted blearily out from under the pillow he had thrown over his head hours before. 

“Sorry.” Clint’s voice floated from somewhere beyond Phil’s line of sight. 

“I’m gonna start crushing sedatives into your dinner the night before a hit,” Phil threatened, though the authority behind the threat was likely undercut by his slurred words and the fact that his voice was partly muffled by the pillow. 

“You’ve been saying that for years,” Clint pointed out with an annoying amount of levity. 

Phil squinted at the digital clock on the small nightstand next to his cot. Two twenty-four a.m. How in the hell could Clint sound so awake at this time of night?

“What’re you doing?” Phil asked, pushing the pillow off his head and looking in the direction of Clint’s voice. 

“This is the quietest activity I could think of, Phil,” Clint said, his tone already sharply defensive. “It’s not my fault a strong breeze could wake you up.”

Phil had to crane his head to see over into the small kitchen area. Clint was at the kitchen table with his bow and a variety of arrows spread out in front of him, working by the light of one of the industrial lanterns from the supply closest. It wasn’t a bright as turning on one of the big, overhead lights, but it still stung Phil’s eyes. 

Phil sighed heavily. “You already inspected all that,” he griped. “And anyway, didn’t you say there wasn’t much point in doing bow maintenance until right before you use it?” 

“I wanted to make sure these new trick arrows are fitting right.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “You’ve tested them. And retested them. And tested them again. They all work fine. Please, just go to sleep.”

“I’ll try and be quieter.”

Phil sighed heavily. Then, with a groan, he pushed himself up and shifted so that his bare feet hit the cold floor. After taking a moment to allow himself get his bearings, he stood and shuffled over to where Clint sat, his eyes on his work, not so much as a glance at Phil as he approached. He blinked blearily at the assortment of equipment spread out on the table. 

But then something caught Phil’s eye. While Clint’s hands worked steadily, his right leg was bouncing rapidly under the table with barely contained energy. As Phil stared at the motion -- his foot bouncing so quickly it was practically a continuous vibration -- it slowly dawned on his fogged brain what the real problem was. 

“Want to spar?” 

Clint blinked up at him, confused. “What?”

“Want to spar?” Phil repeated calmly.

“You want to spar at two-thirty in the morning?” Clint asked skeptically. 

“You clearly have some adrenaline you need to work off,” Phil said. “That adrenaline will be a good thing tomorrow, but tonight it’s not productive. It’s okay for you to let go of it. So, let’s work it out. Okay?” Clint just stared, blinking in confusion. “This offer is only good for the next twenty seconds. Then I’m going back to bed.” 

Finally, Clint smiled. “Okay.”

Phil returned the smile. “Alright, go get the sparring equipment before I change my mind.”

[elspirito23]

Well, it’s not in order or remotely on time, but I enjoyed writing this anyway. I’m trying to dabble in fandoms I’ve never written for before, and this one was fun! So, enjoy a Grantchester fic that got a bit away from me.  @whumptober2019

Whumptober Prompt 5 (Gunpoint)

Fandom: Grantchester

Well, thought Geordie when Jane Spurlock pulled a gun on him. Isn’t this a fine how-do-you-do. It wasn’t as though he could blame the front desk officer for letting her back into his office -- grieving widow, after all -- and of course bloody Donovan was off duty today, so it was just him, and Jane, and her surprisingly large handgun leveled at his head. He lifted his arms slowly, out of instinct, and swallowed thickly; it was harder than it should have been because his mouth was as dry as the Sahara. His heart thudded in his ears. 

“Mrs. Spurlock, why don’t we put the gun down, hmm?” Geordie said, voice as soothing as he could manage. Jane was crying, the gun wobbling in her grip; Geordie would have bet money that it was her first time even holding it. “How about we talk about what’s bothering you?” 

“Matthew is dead!” she cried, sniffling. “He’s dead and you lot won’t arrest his murderer!” 

Ah, Geordie thought. There it is. “We’ve gone over this, Jane,” he said, reaching toward her. “We don’t have the evidence to arrest Frank yet. I know that you think he did it, and if he did we will bring him in, but we can’t do that. Not yet. So why don’t you put the gun down and we’ll get back to work?” 

Jane shook her head fiercely, but her grip seemed more tenuous even then before. “N -- no, you have to -- you have to --” 

Whatever it was he had to do, it was cut off by Geordie’s door flying open and Will -- all bloody 189 centimeters of him -- walking in, a massive smile on his face. A few things happened at once: Will’s smile dropped, Jane startled, the gun went off and Geordie, uselessly, screamed at Will in a warning that was far too late to do any good. 

The gun clattered to the floor a few seconds and Jane let out a sob, trembling hands flying to her mouth. Time seemed to halt for a moment and Geordie blinked, breathing heavily, before turning to Will. The vicar looked back with a slight frown on his face, eyes wide. 

“Will?” Geordie whispered. 

“Sir!” Peters ran into the room and careened into Will, sending the other man stumbling backwards and then crashing to the floor. Just like that, time sped up again. 

“Peters, cuff her and get an ambulance over here, now!” Peters nodded and stepped out of the office, yelling for help, and Geordie scrambled to Will’s side, dropping to his knees next to the vicar’s prone form. “Where are you hit?” he asked, shaking fingers fumbling with Will’s buttons. “Damn this dark suit!” 

“‘S my best one,” Will said, then groaned as Geordie finally came in contact with that tacky feeling he was all too familiar with. 

“I’m sure Mrs. Maguire knows all sorts of tricks to get blood out of fabric,” Geordie said.

“Sir? Ambulance is five minutes out,” Peters said. “Do you need any help?” 

“Thank you Peters, and no, there’s a bit too many people in here as it is,” he said, finally getting through Will’s undershirt and exposing his torso. “Oh, Jesus,” he whispered. Behind him, Peters swore and then stepped out of the room, probably sick.

“Hey,” Will said, waving a weak hand in Geordie’s direction. 

“Yeah yeah, I’ll come make a confession,” Geordie said. 

“‘M not Catholic,” Will mumbled, even as Geordie truly started to take in the gravity of the situation. There was a neat little hole in Will’s stomach, just above and to the left of his belly button and there was blood -- lots of it -- flowing out at an alarming rate. A few officers ran in past them,  presumably to handcuff Mrs. Spurlock, but Geordie was focused entirely on Will. He shucked his jacket off quickly and then hesitated above Will’s wound. 

“I know you’re not,” Geordie said, then smiled apologetically. “This is going to hurt, lad,” he said quietly, then pressed down. Will let out a strangled groan and arched his back, fingers scrabbling at the floor. “I’m sorry, I know,” Geordie said. “Shh, it’ll settle, it’ll settle.” 

After a moment Will seemed able to breathe again and looked up at him with watery eyes. “Is it that bad?” he whispered. 

“No,” Geordie said quickly. “No, you’ll be fine.” 

“Never knew it smelled so much,” Will said. “Getting shot, I mean.” Geordie was reminded, abruptly, just how young Will was; he’d never fought in a war, never seen friends shot, never gotten used to the smells and sounds that accompanied violence.

“You’ll be alright,” he repeated quietly, for lack of anything else to say. 

“‘M getting tired, Geordie,” Will said, his voice breathy and distant. Geordie had heard that tone before more often than he’d like, and he felt a thrill of panic jolt up his spine.

“Hey now, you stay here, Will. Don’t think Grantchester can handle another vicar so soon, do you? Just hold on.” 

 “You’ll tell my mother?” Will said. “You’ll be the one?” 

Geordie wanted nothing more than to shake the young man in front of him and tell him that no, he wouldn’t tell his mother because he wasn’t going to die, but he knew from hard experience that sometimes a man just needed to be reassured. 

“Of course I will, if it comes to that,” Geordie said, clasping Will’s hand with one of his. “But it won’t, will it? I’ve just heard the ambulance attendants come in, and it’ll be no time before you’re all fixed up.” 

“Good,” Will said with a soft sigh. “It hurts,” he added, looking almost ashamed. 

“I know, lad,” Geordie said. “I know.” 

“Sir? We need you to get out of the way now,” a voice said behind him, and Geordie nodded. 

“They’re here, Will. I’ll see you in the hospital in a little while, huh? You hold on.” 

“I will,” Will gasped, and then Geordie was shunted aside and before he knew it, standing outside of his office. He could see Mrs. Spurlock sobbing in one of the interrogation rooms not far from his office, hands cuffed in front of her on the table, and felt only a strange numbness toward her. 

“Sir? Sir, you should -- you might want to get cleaned up, sir,” Peters said, and Geordie looked down at his hands in a daze. They were caked in blood, halfway up his forearms, and it was smeared on his shirt and pants as well. 

“Oh,” he said. Only a moment later Will was whisked past him on a stretcher, looking terribly pale and Geordie took a deep breath. “You’re right, Peters. I think -- I think I might take the rest of the day off. I’ll most likely be at the hospital when you need my statement.” 

“I’ll see that whoever takes the case knows,” Peters said, then cleared his throat and added tentatively, “Take care of yourself, sir. It’s a hard thing what just happened.” 

“Yes,” Geordie said with a sigh, scrubbing the back of his hand across his forehead, “yes it was indeed. Thank you, Peters. I’ll -- I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He made it home, somehow -- probably shouldn’t have been driving, if he was being honest -- and stumbled into the house then stopped, gobsmacked, when Cathy looked up at him from the table, a look of absolute horror on her face. 

“Geordie?” she said, standing abruptly and a hand covering her mouth. “What…” 

“I -- I forgot you were off work today,” Geordie said. 

“Whose blood is that?” Cathy whispered after a moment, and Geordie looked down, surprised that he had forgotten about the blood smeared all over his shirt and pants. 

“Uh, it’s not mine, it’s uh. It’s Will’s.” 

“Will Davenport Will? Will the vicar? What on earth happened?” 

Geordie scrubbed a hand over his head and sucked his teeth, emotions rising as the enormity of the day finally hit him. He finally shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Cathy came up to him and wrapped her arms around him without saying a word. “The blood -- “ he said, but she shook her head against his chest. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, and squeezed tighter. Geordie finally returned the hug, resting his cheek on the top of her head. 

 “He’s  -- he was shot,” he said finally, sniffling just a little. “It looked pretty bad.” 

They stood that way for a long time.